


Serendipity

by confetticlockwork



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, foxxay - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confetticlockwork/pseuds/confetticlockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When something unexpected and wonderful comes along, we call it fate, maybe because we think chance is unkind and the universe owes us something. We're all a host of good and bad happenings.</p>
<p>Historical Foxxay AU - Cordelia Goode lives in luxurious isolation, under the strict and abusive rule of her ruthless mother, matriarch Fiona Goode. She is in need of a friend, and her governess happens across a girl in need of a home. They grow and entwine in a world that is both too big and too small.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is part one of a three-chapter AU. It’s long; longer than Luminescence I think (I have no filter with this pairing) and it could be stretched to a multichapter but I felt like I didn’t want to drag it out. It has also hasn’t taken as long as Luminescence, so likely it won’t be as good, but it’s an idea that simply would not leave me alone.
> 
> It is based loosely on an anonymous prompt I received on tumblr asking for historical Foxxay. I've changed the time a bit. I hope you don't mind, whoever you are. I don't have a beta so sorry for any errors; please let me know!
> 
> Don’t ask me when it’s set as I’m not completely sure. It’s sort of around the early 1800s, in Louisiana, so it’s likely there will be some factual inconsistencies; sorry about that.

“And where exactly did you find her?” Fiona’s voice is tired, dismissive; like there are dozens of other subjects that she’d rather devote her attention to, which is probably the truth.

 

“She was just outside town, the poor dear. Entirely alone! Imagine! She was feeding the birds. I asked what she was doing out so late, and she told me she had nowhere else to go! Homeless, no less. Well, you’d think it of drunks and ne’er-do-wells, but never one so young and pretty. Such a gentle soul, I couldn’t leave her there.”

 

Fiona stretches back in her chair, flexing her neck; her corset is tight and her day has been long and her patience is wearing thin.

 

“So you brought her back here? And what do you want me to do with her?”

 

Myrtle, wringing colourfully-gloved hands, gestures once more at the girl beside her.

 

“Take her in! She’s in need of a home and you have more than enough space! She’s a mere child, and I’m sure you could find use for her.”

 

The matriarch observes cynically, scanning the girl from head to toe.

 

“What can you do, girl? Why should I extend such courtesy?”

 

The girl glances briefly at the red head beside her, and receiving a nod, steps forward.

 

“I’m real good with plants, miss. I see ya have a pretty big garden; I’ll look after it. Ya needn’t pay me. That’s all I know, ya see…”

 

Fiona frowns at the girl’s accent.

 

“You are from the bayou?”

 

“Yes, miss.”

 

Fiona presses her lips together and sighs. Her brow furrows as she considers.

 

“You have no notable family?”

 

“My ma and pa weren’t poor, miss. We had a house and everythin’. I ain’t much but I was somethin’ before they died, I swear it.”

 

Fiona sighs and leans further back in her armchair, skirts rustling round her.

 

“Well, aside from your accent, your manner of speaking isn’t _too_ abysmal, I suppose…How old are you?”

 

“I’m 20, miss.”

 

“Only two years younger than my Delia…” Fiona catches Myrtle’s equally knowing eye. Her daughter the recluse…so shy and sad…so _alone_. Perhaps this girl was the answer to all her problems…

 

Fiona pulls herself out of her seat and stands before the girl.

 

“Alright.” She sighs. “You shall live here, under my roof, and I shall provide you with whatever you need. You in return for my care shall tend my gardens, and keep my daughter company. I will educate you in whatever areas I consider fit. I will pay for your upkeep, your clothing, and anything else you require, or desire within reason. You shall be under my guardianship, and you shall stay out of my way wherever possible. Is that understood?”

 

The girl nods seriously, eagerly, and Myrtle bounces on the balls of her feet.

 

“Ms Snow here is my companion, as well as my daughter’s governess. She will see to your upkeep on a day-to-day basis. She will also show you to your room. You shall meet my daughter in the morning.”

 

The girl nods once more, ecstatic at the prospect of a proper bed.

 

Myrtle and the girl stand as Fiona moves gracefully towards the door, intending on retiring for the night. The clock ticks over to midnight, the fire is minutes from being extinguished, and the house creaks sleepily with the lethargic movement of the servants’ final duties.

 

Fiona turns back in the doorway to get another look at the house’s newest inhabitant.

 

“What is your name, girl?”

 

The girl smiles. “Misty. Misty Day.”

 

Fiona sighs like it’s something she expected to hear, but didn’t want to.

 

ooo

 

“A what?”

 

“A companion! Isn’t it _marvellous_?! At last, my dear, you shall have someone to entertain you. I know how solitary a life you have led, all shut up here alone, but this girl is close to your age and she’ll be perfectly satisfactory. She can certainly talk, and I don’t believe she is too intelligent, but I suppose that doesn’t matter concerning the two of you!”

 

The young woman subtly, subconsciously tilts her head slightly to alleviate the pain of her handmaid tugging her hair into its restraints. “A ‘companion’? You’ve trapped the poor girl here to entertain me? What a punishment!”

 

“She simply had no other option, Delia. Your mother was indeed generous to take her in. She will take care of the grounds. She has quite the affinity with nature, I believe.”

 

Once ghost blonde hair is securely tied back, the young woman stands with the effortless elegance of one raised to fear what would happen if she did not move in this fashion. She moves to observe herself in the looking-glass, biting her lip at the face looking back at her.

 

“I shall call for her. You two should really be introduced as a matter of urgency.” Myrtle asks a maid to fetch the latest resident, and a moment after her departure the door opens again.

 

“Cordelia dear, this is Misty Day.”

 

“Miss Day, this is Cordelia Goode.”

 

“I’m sure you two will be the best of friends.”

 

Cordelia, awkward in something as uncomfortable as the presence of a new acquaintance, shuffles forwards and extends a hand to the girl.

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Day.”

 

The girl smiles in response, and Cordelia swears the sight is so bright she is momentarily startled. She takes her hand.

 

“Same ta you, Miss Cordelia…I mean Miss Goode.” She blushes superbly and Cordelia lets a tiny smile reflect in her own face at the girl’s accent. She can’t believe her mother let this girl on their grounds, let alone agreed to have her stay.

 

She’s rather wonderful to look at. She has the figure of a willow tree and the posture of a water reed, all clumsy charm and effortless grace in her stance. She has hair like tangled sunlight and eyes like the whole sky crammed into two puddles. Her dress is made of numerous thin materials all layered over the top of each other in the Cajun fashion that is not the style one would expect to see in Cordelia’s society. Misty Day stands like a blemish on a pure canvas. No, she stands like a daffodil in a field of clover.

 

“I’ll leave you two to become better acquainted. Cordelia, don’t forget your lesson later on. Bring your Latin work please.” And with that Myrtle Snow vanishes out of the door, followed by Cordelia’s handmaid and she’s left alone with this stranger.

 

“So…you’re to live with us?”

 

“That’s right, ma’am. Your mother’s real kind to give me a place to stay. I’m going to tend to your gardens.”

 

Cordelia frowns slightly, glancing out of the large window at the extensive grounds laid out behind the house. “That’s going to be rather a lot of work, it is not?”

 

“I suspect so, ma’am. I can’t wait.” And the lilt of her humble accent and the way she bites her bottom lip to stop the spread of her grin makes the strange statement sound stranger still in its evident sincerity.

 

“Please, there’s no need for ‘ma’am’. Only around mother. If we’re to be companions, you may use my name.”

 

“Of course, Miss Cordelia, that’s nice of you.”

 

_Miss Cordelia_. The elder girl didn’t expect this new version of her name to ever sound so amusing and endearing.

 

“Please, join me for breakfast. I wish to get to know all about you as quickly as possible.” Her brain feels slow and her skin feels hot and Cordelia so rarely has company and she is so _painfully_ aware of socially awkward she can be, merely through lack of practice. She speaks to the staff and her governess and her mother maybe once a day if she cannot avoid it, and rarely anyone else. This girl might help, she thinks, she seems as open and casual a companion as would be possible. Perhaps her bright attitude and confident aura will brush off on Cordelia a little.

 

Misty looks like she wants to devour the whole spread herself, and Cordelia isn’t surprised. Judging by her rather lacklustre curves, the girl doesn’t get much to eat. However, she appears to abruptly remember where she is and why she’s there and she waits patiently and thanks Cordelia politely and looks slightly floored by the extensive cutlery and almost intimidated by the choice of food, but she soon slips into it, regardless of whether or not she looks comfortable.

 

“So you grew up on the bayou?” Cordelia begins.

 

“That’s right.” Replies Misty after taking time and care to make sure she doesn’t speak with her mouth full. “Born and bred. I ain’t really one for the community, a bit tight if ya ask me, but the Cajuns are all I’ve ever known. I’m real sorry that it’s so obvious, I know it ain’t proper.”

 

Cordelia shakes her head dismissively. “Fretting about propriety is Myrtle’s job and fretting about image is my mother’s. I couldn’t care less if our backgrounds are different, that isn’t either of our doing.” Misty gives her a sideways glance and then smiles brightly, glancing humbly down at her lap as she calculatedly sips her tea.

 

“How did you end up here?”

 

Misty collects her thoughts for a moment. Cordelia is more than happy to wait, secretly relishing every second of interaction.

 

“Well, my Ma died and my Pa didn’t really want me around too much. So after he died a couple of years later it wasn’t that big a step from the bayou to the town. I needed money, but it’s not like I could really read or write nothing too well. I helped a local farmer with his deliveries while I taught myself better. Then he died too. His wife kicked me out and when Miss Myrtle found me, I was living off whatever I could find in a shack on the outskirts of the swamp. I was real nice of her to take pity on me. She passed that way a few times, then stopped to talk to me out of the blue one day. I remember lookin’ forward to her goin’ past ‘cause of that bright hair of hers.”

 

She finishes her tea then leans back happily on her chair. “And that’s how I’m here.”

 

_You are fortunate you are attractive and interesting, else Myrtle would never have even considered stopping to help you._

“My…you have had a rather unpleasant life…”

 

Misty’s expression is passive, like she’d expect nothing else from her existence.

 

“It wasn’t so bad…”

 

“Why did your father not want you around, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

Misty smiles and shakes her head at Cordelia’s tentativeness.

 

“My parents weren’t all that fond of me. I’m an only child and wasn’t the ideal one, as far as I could gather. I wouldn’t marry at 16, for a start. In fact I refused to marry at all. I didn’t like church. I got bored and tried to get out of it. I didn’t like my Pa tryin’ for hours to teach me verses of the Bible. I ain’t religious, see. Well, not in the way they wanted me to be. They marked me as a heathen. It wasn’t so bad. Before Ma died, they let me stay under their roof and fed me, but after that, Pa thought I was old enough to spread my winds a little so let my know he didn’t really like me hangin’ around. There ain’t anyone I miss from childhood. I’m alive, ain’t I? That’s the main thing.”

 

Cordelia sits in stunned silence and tries to follow the girl’s narration. Out of all of Louisiana she doesn’t think Myrtle could have found a companion more different to her.

 

“That sounds like quite an ordeal.”

 

Misty shrugs as she eats. “It’s in the past. A past I don’t particularly want to revisit.”

 

“Of course. I understand.”

 

Cordelia remembers her duties, having been sidetracked by this surprisingly interesting new acquaintance.

 

“I’d probably better tell you what to expect from life here.”

 

Misty nods eagerly and shifts in her seat to face the other woman, as Cordelia rises in a rustle of expensive fabric.

 

“Literacy is fairly essential in this house. Mother believes it gives a good impression. Therefore it is likely she will wish you to take lessons, probably with Myrtle. You will be taught how to read and write properly. I assume you will be given your gardening duties by Myrtle or another member of staff. You will need to be acquainted with our groundskeeper, Spalding, and Delphine the housekeeper. You will have your own room. It’s right next to mine so if you need anything I’m easily accessible. If you’re unsure about anything while you’re settling in, please ask me.”

 

Misty follows everything that’s said with a film over her eyes, but then shakes her head and nods.

 

“Got it.”

 

Cordelia lets her authoritative demeanour slide away as she smiles genuinely.

 

“I hope we’ll become good friends. I could do with some company.”

 

“Oh I’m certain of it, Miss Cordelia. I ain’t found nothing not to like about you so far.”

 

ooo

 

She doesn’t see much of Misty for the first week. The girl is under vigorous tutoring to make sure she can read and write to Fiona’s standards. However, every evening, just before dinner, they go for a walk together round the grounds. This is usually no longer than twenty minutes, but it allows conversation to ease up between them. Soon, the awkwardness dissipates a little.

 

She’s never met anyone like Misty Day. She’s an enigma and happily so. She picks up on Cordelia’s love of nature immediately and talks about the world around them like she’s fully aware of how much she owes to it, unlike everyone else with their unwavering belief in an Almighty Deity who created the world around them for decoration. She doesn’t conform to the fashion of the house; she keeps her loose clothes while Cordelia is packed into corsets and heavy skirts. Cordelia’s hair is always pulled out of the way in the current complicated up-do style, Misty’s is usually mostly loose, all mad curls and blonde boldness.

 

Cordelia likes her.

 

“Miss Myrtle said you’re ‘betrothed’?”

 

Cordelia glances at the ground they walk over in the way she often does. “Yes, that is correct.”

 

She doesn’t want to talk about it. Misty’s always been tactless.

 

“To whom?”

 

“Hank Foxx. His father owns quite a sizeable cotton plantation. They’re one of the wealthiest families in the state.”

 

“So it’s arranged?”

 

“Entirely, yes.”

 

“Have you ever met him?”

 

“Once or twice.”

 

“What’s he like?”

 

“He’s…” She presses her lips together. “He’s very _masculine_. We don’t have much in common but…I’m sure he’ll make a good husband.” The tension in her voice shows that she is choosing propriety over honesty, and Misty isn’t _that_ oblivious.”

 

“I’m assumin’ you don’t have much choice.”

 

“No, not really.” Her tone is resigned and passive. It’s the voice of someone who gave up resisting a long time ago.

 

The first time she’d met him, she hadn’t spoken more than ten words to him. Her mother had been bargaining with Lord Foxx for weeks, speaking predominantly of her daughter’s ever-growing beauty and the pride she would bring as an addition to his family. Cordelia sat silently stewing in her own anger as her mother bartered for her best price like she was selling livestock. Cordelia was presented to Lord Foxx and his son. Her maids had spent much longer than usual pinning her hair back elaborately and tying her into a new gown bought especially for the occasion; tailored to emphasise her slender waist and neck and set off the paleness of her hair and skin and the darkness of her eyes. All she really remembers vividly was how uncomfortable it was.

 

And she was walked in by Myrtle and stood silently, complacently, as Lord Foxx circled her, observing every inch of her, and while her future husband simply stared blatantly. After agreeing that she was more than satisfactory to look at, Hank approached and greeted her, and she replied in the tame, alluring, subservient way she had been taught, and that was it. She was silent as the grave while her mother and Lord Foxx haggled some more over little issues, and Hank continued to stare.

 

“I don’t think that’s right, if that’s ok to say.”

 

Cordelia’s lips twist bitterly. “I’m not ecstatic about the whole arrangement, but there is very little I can do. I have no one but my mother. She’d disown me if I refused and then I’d have nowhere to go. It might not be so bad; it would means I would leave this house, would leave _her_. If my husband is kind, I may ever get to see the world a little.”

 

“Do you think you will ever love him?”

 

Cordelia considers for a moment, as they stroll down the apple tree avenue, hidden from the house by the trees.

 

“I haven’t really thought about it. I suppose someday I _could_ , in a certain way. Like I said, I barely know him. It’s difficult to gauge his personality at this point.”

 

Misty frowns softly, and it’s an expression Cordelia has never before seen on her face.

 

“That don’t seem fair.”

 

“It isn’t too bad. At least I’ll be comfortable for the rest of my life. Even if I am likely to have to live on their estate…”

 

“What’s wrong with that?”

 

Cordelia sighs. She stops half way down the avenue and lowers herself delicately onto the stone bench she is so fond of, facing the rest of the grounds, her back to the house. Misty joins her.

 

“Harrison Foxx is a plantation owner. A successful one too. Which means his house, and his plantation…well…there’ll be…”

 

“Slaves.” Misty finishes bluntly for her.

 

Cordelia nods solemnly. “At least while I live here away from everything I can pretend it isn’t happening. With it right on my doorstep I won’t be able to ignore it, and I’ll likely do something to displease my new family.”

 

“I could have guessed you’d be against it.”

 

“I can’t see how anyone could be _for_ it.”

 

“Nor I. People treat each other real bad. I always figured we got enough problems as a race as it is to condemn an entire people ‘cause of somethin’ stupid like the colour of their skin.”

 

Cordelia nods, the look in her eyes slightly haunted. “It’s horrendous. From what I’ve seen, it’s worse than I ever imagined before. It’s barbaric and I fear I will struggle to live somewhere where it’s going on just outside.”

 

Misty glances down at her feet, her mind wandering, her eyes sad like she’s just taken on the burden of all of humanity’s suffering, like she feels it innately and has allowed her guard to slip for a second.

 

“At least if I was surrounded by it I could help.” Cordelia ponders. “I could try to make their lives a little better. Then again, Lord Foxx is famed for a reason. He doesn’t strike me as a man who is kind to his slaves, or kind to anyone who shows them some humanity. I’d be disobeying him and my husband, but I don’t think I could stop myself.”

 

“That wouldn’t surprise me none. You’re too kind for your own good, you know that?”

 

Cordelia smiles and shakes her head. “And that’s coming from you? You who picked up that tiny bird off the lawn and took it home? You hid it in your room and fed it and nurtured it back to health until it could fly away. I have no idea how in this cold world I’ve been raised in, _you_ have managed to slip through the cracks. You seem about the kindest being in the world, Misty Day.”

 

The girl blushes and shifts, unsure of how to react to one of the first sincere compliments she has ever received. “I don’t know about that, Miss Cordelia. It’s my responsibility to at least _try_ though. The world ain’t half bad when you ain’t bad to it.”

 

Cordelia raises her hand like she’s going to take Misty’s, then changes her mind and stands, smoothing down her skirt.

 

“We’d better return. We’ve been out here longer than usual.”

 

Misty smiles softly up at her, her blue eyes becoming more familiar with every day that passes.

 

“As you wish.” She stands and accompanies her companion inside.

 

Yes, she likes Misty Day…a lot.

 

ooo

 

“She’s learning quickly. I’ve taught her to your exact request.”

 

“Good. Hopefully if I ever have to be seen with her she won’t be a total embarrassment.”

 

“I am certain of it. I cannot breed the accent out of her thought. I think it’s rather charming; humble and rustic.”

 

“Well at least one of us does. How is she getting along with Delia?”

 

“Like a house on fire. Whenever they’re not in lessons or otherwise engaged, they’re inseparable. However that might just be because there’s not really anyone else around to talk to.”

 

“Have her spirits risen?”

 

“There is a definite improvement. I assure you, Fiona, it was the right thing to do. The girl needed a friend.”

 

“Well you can tell the Cajun to convince Delia to shut up and marry Hank Foxx without complaint. If anyone can sway her she can.”

 

“If you ask me, Miss Day isn’t in full support of the marriage. I suspect Cordelia has put a rather negative spin on it.”

 

“Well I took her in when she had nowhere to go; she’s under my roof, and therefore under _my_ rule. Tell her that, whenever suitable, she is to encourage the marriage and convince Delia that it is a good thing.”

 

“Of course. Is she to be present at the Spring Ball? Or would you rather keep her upstairs out of sight?”

 

“Hmm…no. Let her come. She’ll keep Delia happy and as long as we find her the right gown and she keeps her mouth shut, she’ll do us proud with a face like hers. Besides, people might see it as philanthropy.”

 

“As you wish. I shall tell her first thing tomorrow. Cordelia _will_ be pleased.”

 

ooo

 

Friendship comes easy to those in need of it.

 

Within a month of Misty Day’s arrival, Cordelia had found the company she didn’t realise she has been desperately craving for as long as she can remember. Misty’s voice is filled with wonder and her speech is filled with warmth and there’s something new and refreshing about waking up every morning and being eager to address the day just to see her once more. It seems her novelty doesn’t wear off.

 

On Misty’s part, she adapts well. She isn’t used to regular baths and three large meals a day and, after not taking a liking to the clothes she is provided with, Myrtle sees no harm in allowing some of her own style to be purchased. Misty cannot believe she lives like this now. She’d never have thought she’d be so comfortable in a life so restrictive, but she is no longer alone.

 

Once Misty is sufficiently literate, her and Cordelia spend more and more time together. Walks in the grounds turn to afternoons spent on the bank of the lake or running childishly through the woods or spreading out on the grass and reading or cloud-watching or just sharing every bit of themselves that’s left hidden. Cordelia notices that, despite being casually open about most things, Misty keeps a lot close. She talks little of her childhood. Cordelia doesn’t want to pry.

 

_This must be what having a sister is like_. Despite their differences they flourish as a pair, and Myrtle seems truly thrilled, until Cordelia starts arriving late for lessons or being distracted from her work on account of the other girl.

 

Misty gardens as she promised. Spalding is glad of the help considering his advanced age and the size of the task. Misty spends hours in the sunken garden and the orchard and the maze, making sure nothing is overgrown and everything is blooming, as it should as spring approaches. Despite being just one person and how easily distracted she gets by the life around her as she works, the grounds have never looked better. Fiona is impressed, but slightly less so when Cordelia spends her spare time out there with Misty, talking to her as she works and learning eagerly about the various flora and fauna that surround her. Her pale skin occasionally turns pink from sun exposure, which Misty finds charming, but Fiona resents, and as a result, insists on her spending a day inside until she returns to her elegant porcelain colour.

 

“You have a way with nature.” Cordelia voices the obvious as Misty ties a struggling rose bush to a stick to aid its growth.

 

“It’s somethin’ I’ve always found enjoyable…and calmin’…”

 

“Where did you learn? From your parents?”

 

Misty laughs lightly; the sound of bells and the wind through water reeds. “No, they weren’t into that. Thought me workin’ in the swamp, plantin’ trees and growin’ flowers was a sign of witchcraft. No, I mostly learnt myself. I don’t know none of the fancy terms for things but I know how they work and what they like.”

 

“That much is clear.”

 

Cordelia watches intently, and Misty takes her hand and pulls her towards the plants, showing her how to tie them up and watching as she does so on her own. Something as simple as tending the roses causes Cordelia to smile a little wider than her mother would like. Misty smiles back.

 

-0-0-0-

 

Some days are cold. A slight lull in the blistering heat of the country stirs up a winter wind that freezes the house despite the sun blazing on. Cordelia stays inside. Misty gardens regardless of weather but trembles as the wind creeps into a frame that, despite all the food she consumes, remains thin and willowy. Cordelia is berated into reading, painting and playing the piano. All she can read is poetry and all she can paint are flowers and all she can play are scales in major that all sound like butterfly wings and rose petals. Her mother insists on her daughter painting landscapes and learning the classics. Cordelia’s mind drifts. It’s difficult to focus on the horror of Dante’s “Inferno” when there seems to be very little gloom left in the world.

 

Only for a little while, anyhow.

 

Because Misty, though asked to, never _did_ voice her “support” of the marriage as arranged and Cordelia is firmly determined to be as stubborn as possible regarding its proceeding. Her mother speaks of it so casually that one day Cordelia snaps and

raises her voice, asserting her hatred of the situation. It’s the first time she’s snapped and Fiona isn’t happy. Her tears cause the palm print on her cheek to sting as she locks herself in her bedroom.

 

_This is your life, Delia, whether you like it or not. This is what you were raised to do, this is what you’ve been bred to do, so this is what you shall do. You have very little to recommend you, despite being my daughter, so you will count your fortunes that Lord Foxx and his son will have you, and you’ll keep your mouth shut and look pretty and smile your way through life. I’m not discussing options here; there is only one. You will do as you’re told without complaint or there will be no place for you under this roof. Lord knows I’m not gaining anything from your lack of talent and childishness._

Misty knocks and waits and Cordelia can see the shadow of her sitting against the locked door but she doesn’t want to open it. She isn’t in the least presentable; all blotchy, tear-stained cheeks and she’s being so _silly_ but she’s a little scared about letting the girl see her like this.

 

“Please, Miss Cordelia, just let me in.”

 

‘I – I can’t Misty. I’m not respectable. I just…I just want to be alone.”

 

Although giving up on a lost cause isn’t Misty’s speciality, she knows when enough is enough. But there’s something in Cordelia’s voice that says she really _doesn’t_ want to be alone, and Misty can only trust her instinct. An entire life of psychological abuse from the one person who should love her unconditionally has left its mark on the otherwise pristine purity of Cordelia Goode, and Misty mourns the lost potential of the part of Cordelia that died the second she was born to Fiona.

 

She waits for hours. Cordelia sobs. Neither moves for fear of startling the other.

 

“Cordelia, let me in please.”

 

Cordelia sighs. What’s the point? She’s never had someone like Misty around. Who knows what might change?

 

The door creaks as it opens. Misty scrambles to her feet and hesitates on the threshold, testing the water. She embraces Cordelia cautiously, but warmly as the other girl sinks against her in defeat. It’s the first time this kind of physical contact has blossomed, and it’s tainted slightly with Cordelia sobbing softly into Misty’s curls. But the Cajun supposes that’s what she’s here for; as a companion to Cordelia. She’ll try to be the strong one and let Cordelia cling to her as much as she needs to.

 

She leads Cordelia back to her bed and sits with her arms round her on the edge, unsure of what to do exactly. She thinks it best not to say anything, so simply brushes escaped locks of hair away from her face and holds her hand.

 

“I’ve never spent the night with someone before.”

 

Cordelia speaks suddenly into the silence. She isn’t crying now and she appears to be composed, but it’s muted, and the look in her eyes is distant to the point of detachment.

 

Misty sits and lets her talk.

 

“Of course, not in the matrimonial sense, but not in any other sense either. I have never shared a bed with someone. I have never spent the night sleeping beside another person. That never struck me as unusual up until this moment.”

 

She sniffles quietly and tilts her chin up. She doesn’t make eye contact with Misty at all.

 

“My mother wouldn’t allow it. My nurse would sleep in the next room and leave the door open. I hardly ever cried as a child according to Auntie Myrtle, but when I did my nurse would lull me back to sleep, then put me straight back to bed. Through years of thunder storms and nightmares and general fear of the big world and everything I didn’t understand, I have spent every night alone since birth. I never considered that out of the ordinary until just now, for some reason.”

 

“That is a little unusual. My Ma didn’t hold much fondness for me, even threatened to burn me as a heretic and I ain’t even sure that was an idle threat, but if I found a dead frog or mouse of I had bad dreams she’d let me sleep with her when I was little. It don’t surprise me though, Miss Cordelia. Your Ma don’t try. She ain’t no good to ya. Every child needs to be held sometimes I think.”

 

Cordelia shakes her head and silent tears slip down her cheeks.

 

“I’m – it’s so silly, Misty. I have nothing to complain about. I live in luxury.”

 

“What’s the point if ya don’t have anyone? It’s stupid to say you’re stupid. It ain’t your fault, Cordelia, it’s _hers_. You think you’re muddled up because you let yourself be but it’s her. I ain’t never heard her say a nice thing to you; her own daughter. It’s horrible. I can’t imagine what it must have been like havin’ her breathin’ down ya neck like that your entire life.”

 

Cordelia sighs shakily. “I think…I think it’s made me a mess…” And it’s like the self-loathing starts coming off her in waves.

 

“But there’s no point crying about it.” She brushes angrily at her cheeks. “She has the power. Father died before I was born, but I have never had reason to believe he was anything extraordinary or even decent. I’ve known nothing but her. She knows how much power there is in shaping my childhood. She knows that, even though she spends very little time with me, she still has the power because she’s my mother and the head of the house and I don’t know what I possibly could have done to make her hate me so much. I used to think I was just terrible, just a disappointment in every way a child could be. It took years until I realized she was perhaps the problem. But none of that matters, because soon I’ll be free of her, even if I do end up spending the rest of my life _there_.”

 

Something in the slight slant of her usually meticulous posture, or the edge of weariness in her voice implies that she still isn’t fully convinced that she is not the problem. Honesty saturates the scene and Misty is swept up in it.

 

“Myrtle asked me to encourage the marriage. I think it was on your Ma’s orders.”

 

“You haven’t mentioned it.”

 

“Of course not. I see how unhappy it’s making you. I don’t want to make you unhappy, but Madam Goode is keeping me safe and sheltered, so I can’t disobey her. I thought it would be best to just stay out of it but maybe it would be worth acceptin’ it if it means you can leave this poisonous house.”

 

“You don’t know Lord Foxx.” She whispers helplessly.

 

Misty can do nothing but watch as the rock and the hard place slowly close in on Cordelia as she trembles slightly.

 

-0-0-0-

 

“It’s an excuse for Fiona to invite all the wealthiest and most influential in the land and show off her house and parade me around in whatever cloth torture she manages to acquire. It isn’t fun, it’s never been.”

 

“Nevertheless, I ain’t never been to a _ball_ before. I’m curious. It was real nice of your Ma to invite me.:

 

“It was…I’m suspicious.”

 

Misty rolls her eyes and smiles, leaning back on the blanket to look up at the sky. Cordelia watches how her hair spreads out around her placid face.

 

“It _might_ be fun with you there.”

 

Misty glances up at her and sends one of her effortless, blinding smiles.

 

“I’ll help ya through it as much as I can.”

 

“I suppose my mother will be fitting you with a gown soon. Be warned; she seems to prefer the more painful end of fashion.”

 

Misty stretches out long legs and looks up at the sky. She seems to be comprised almost entirely of limbs and curls. She sighs like she’s content, and Cordelia feels ashamed. If Misty is content here, where Cordelia has never been truly happy, then what she suffered before must dwarf Cordelia’s past into insignificance.

 

Misty would definitely berate her for trying to quantify suffering.

 

She lies down next to her and watches the afternoon sky turn to evening while their discussion is as fleeting and enjoyable as the soft clouds overhead.

 

-0-0-0-

 

Fiona, as usual, makes Cordelia wait outside, twisting her hands together nervously in her gloves, until everyone is present and settled before “presenting” her daughter. The room is quiet and Cordelia _hates_ it. She hates feeling the eyes crawling over her, the judgement, the murmuring. She doesn’t care if it’s slander or appraisal, she wishes to sink herself into the walls and disappear from view. Instead she must be greeted by everyone at the ball as her mother guides her around. The deceivingly maternal hand on her harm is gripping too tight.

 

Madison Montgomery introduces herself. She has a reputation in New Orleans for being bold. She has a small head and large eyes and her lips are painted a rather ostentatious shade of red. She grips Cordelia’s hand more tightly than Fiona when she shakes it, and her smile is pasted firmly onto her face until she turns away from the conversation. It is clear Fiona dislikes her, but she is up and coming in Louisiana society, and therefore had to receive an invitation.

 

Cordelia wishes to find Misty, but her mother has other ideas. Fiona looks both foreboding and magnificent in her dress of deep crimson satin, her age doing nothing to inhibit the looks of appreciation she receives. Her daughter looks like her polar opposite; her gown is light pink trimmed with black lace and white embroidery. Her hair is as usual pulled away from her face, cured and pinned to reveal her long slender neck. She looks demure and virginal, almost angelic, and while Fiona inspires desire, Cordelia inspires admiration.

 

Then Lord Foxx and his son enter the scene. Cordelia goes through the usual routine; a polite greeting then a modest blush at Hank’s compliments. Fiona offers to discuss business with Lord Foxx, now they are to become allies in economy as well as family, and Hank asks Cordelia to dance with him. She accepts graciously and he leads her to the middle of the ballroom among the other twirling couples.

 

She does not want to be there in the slightest. Something about the way he holds her waist like he already owns it makes her skin crawl. As they spin, he engages her in conversation.

 

“You grow more radiant by the day, Miss Goode.”

 

“Thank you, Mr Foxx.” She replies curtly.

 

“And you have the gift of silence; a great virtue in a woman nowadays.”

 

Her silence is mostly due to unwillingness to participate in social interaction in this setting, but she doesn’t say that.

 

“Hold you no opinion of me? By all means, be passive on other matters, but on your own betrothed you ought to believe something?”

 

She meets his gaze. She lets her eyes harden a little as he moves closer.

 

“I believe you are a good match. Your father is highly successful and you seem a gentleman.”

 

“It is a good match. One so delicate ought to have a man to protect her, and it must have been difficult growing up with only a mother to guide you. One never knows what may occur on a plantation.” He shakes his head and smiles. “That is not suitable talk for now.”

 

But Cordelia has seen an opportunity.

 

“You refer to your slaves?”

 

“I do.”

 

“You think them a threat?”

 

“Well,” he laughs as if Cordelia were stupid to ask. She dislikes being patronised by someone with little experience of her intellect. “Of course. They are dangerous, people often forget. You must remember, Miss Goode, as many do not, that they are…they are like animals, well they are animals in a way; they are ignorant and unpredictable, they could run wild like beasts, you must keep a close eye and firm discipline on them and they will be content with their lot, considering they know nothing else.”

 

His words, and his soft, smooth delivery, make her stomach turn. She thinks of the life that awaits her in her future home.

 

“Surely, slaves are people, Mr Foxx? Human beings.” She tries to hide the edge in her tone. He appears oblivious.

 

“Oh Miss Goode, your mother has done well to protect you in your ignorance of the world; it is the best way to live these days. No, slaves are more property than people, but of course you shall be taught all this when you live with me as my wife. There is no need for such education now. This is supposed to be a light-hearted affair.”

 

The room is suddenly too small and the air is suddenly too thin and her gown is suddenly too hot and she forces on a smile then steps away from him.

 

“Thank you for the dance, Mr Foxx, but my mother will wish me back at her side.”

 

He bows to her and she hurries to escape from his eyes.

 

_He was not indecent to you. He was tactless and delusional and as utterly unlike you as possible, but he was not cruel or abusive. He may never treat you with respect, but he may treat you well none the less…_

She reaches the door and stands against the frame, her breathing erratic and it’s difficult to force air into her lungs all of a sudden. She clutches at her waist as she drags in her breath.

 

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

 

Asks Lady So-And-So from Wherever, a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. She tries to speak but cannot, so simply nods.

 

“You’ve gone awfully pale.” Voices another guest, and soon she has acquired the attention of a few noble men and women, all concerned, but unmoving in her aid.

 

“Excuse me, sorry, may I get through? Thank you. Hey, are you alright?”

 

The voice is familiar and warm and the panic starts to melt away a little. Cordelia turns her eyes on Misty as she pushes through the small group and takes her hand.

 

“Come on, Cordelia, give me a hint?”

 

Cordelia smiles a little and nods, her breathing evening out.

 

“She’s alright.” Misty says, and the crowd slowly goes back to their own conversations.

 

“Can ya breathe now? I was awful worried.”

 

Cordelia’s not sure she can breathe. Misty is…she’s…changed. She thinks perhaps Fiona has been more lenient in considering Misty’s choice of clothing. The deep green of the material sets off tones in Misty’s eyes that Cordelia didn’t even realise were there. Her dress is tight but not suffocating and the skirt flows rather than holding its shape. The embellishment on the bodice is black and gold and climbs across the fabric in intricate vines and flowers. The locks of her hair at the front that she’s constantly pushing out of her eyes have been pulled out of her face and this is a rare occasion in that she doesn’t have a fleck of mud on pale skin. Cordelia doesn’t know if it’s the lack of air or the lighting in the room, but she’s certain Misty is _shimmering_.

 

She’s a vision. Of what, Cordelia is not sure.

 

“Cordelia? Answer me, for heaven’s sake! Are you alright?” Her tone is light and relieved as she can see the colour returning to Cordelia’s cheeks.

 

Cordelia opens her mouth to form a response, then it dies on her lips. The only word in the English language she can remember is “beautiful” and it goes round and round in her head, blinding her like a perfumed miasma.

 

Misty frowns slightly, biting her bottom lip as she sees what looks like _awe_ swimming in her friend’s eyes.

 

“…Cordelia?” She asks softly.

 

“Hmm? Yes! Sorry. I’m fine, Misty, there’s no need to worry.” A nervous smile flutters across her lips.

 

“Ya sure?”

 

“Yes. Thank you.” She realises that she’s staring. The lack lace, the green colour and the flowers, the messy curls that look less messy than usual, and slightly restrained as well. The image is the perfect combination of Misty and Cordelia, their respective worlds, and it’s like she’s seeing her companion under entirely different circumstances.

 

“Misty…”

 

Misty follows her eyeline and laughs nervously.

 

“Yeah, it’s odd. I’m awful uncomfortable.”

 

“You’re beautiful.”

 

There’s a moment of awkwardness while they try to out-blush each other, but Cordelia does not look away, conviction in her stance.

 

“I mean…I’ve never seen…your dress and…you’re rather…magnificent…”

 

“Thank you…as are you actually. Well, you never aren’t, but tonight especially.”

 

A compliment from Misty rings different to every other she’s received that night. Maybe it’s because of the girl’s unwavering honesty.

 

“So what was that about? Why did you panic like that?” Misty continues, and her cheeks are still a little pink and she nervously tugs at her skirts.

 

“Oh, it was nothing. I was…well I was dancing with Mr Foxx and I suppose I just had a bit of a moment.”

 

But the feeble excuse isn’t enough. “Did he say somethin’ to ya? Somethin’ ya didn’t like?” Misty leaps to her defence as always and Cordelia can’t stop the small smile at the gesture.

 

“He was talking about his father’s slaves and then he said something that just made me suddenly realise where I’m going to have to live when I leave this place.”

 

Misty looks round like Hank’s going to materialise and attack Cordelia. Cordelia places a hand on Misty’s arm. Her skin is warner than she expected.

 

“It’s alright. I was being silly.”

 

“Come on, let’s step outside for a minute.”

 

Misty takes her hand and leads her steadily through the gathered gentry. Cordelia notices the curious glances thrown their way and where Fiona is looked at with desire and Cordelia with admiration, Misty is looked at with something akin to wonder. She looks wild and enigmatic; a mystery, like a gazelle in a field of sheep. Cordelia doesn’t blame them.

 

The night is cloudy and hot, and while Cordelia leans thankfully against the cool, sturdy stone wall of the house, Misty glides over to the hedges and flower beds, trailing her fingers along the leaves, feeling the life humming through green stems and petals. The final vestiges of Cordelia’s unease flee with the sight.

 

“I’m so sorry you’ve got to marry him, Cordelia.”

 

Cordelia sighs. “There’s nothing either of us can do about it.”

 

“We could run away.”

 

Cordelia laughs bitterly. “We wouldn’t get five miles. Mother would be on us from the second we left and we’d be defenceless and poor.”

 

“I’d protect ya. I know about livin’ wild.”

 

“I don’t doubt that.” Cordelia smiles pensively and looks down at the stone beneath her. She looks up on Misty’s approach. Her posture is less easy than it usually is; due to the dress perhaps.

 

“I told you it isn’t any fun.”

 

Misty takes her hands absentmindedly and runs her thumbs over the back of them. “It’s getting better.” She says.

 

There’s something so easy about being with Misty. Cordelia is surprised that after all these years in isolation, she isn’t painfully unnatural when it comes to interaction, but it’s like all of a sudden, conversation is second nature. Around others, around people her mother tells her she is to impress, she recites phrases of politeness and avoids conflict, but it always feels rigid and forced. Back when the Bensons were a family of note, they used be invited to all Fiona’s events, and Cordelia used to talk to Zoe whenever they came. Zoe was different to Cordelia; she was unintelligent and sociable and valued, and interested in personal relationships; the trait that eventually led to her downfall, as her elopement with the family’s stable boy, Kyle as Cordelia remembers, caused the scandal that her family would never fully recover from. Zoe was perhaps more than an acquaintance, but less than a friend, and Cordelia hasn’t spoke to her since; something she misses.

 

Misty, however, is different to Cordelia as well, but in ways that are complimentary. She listens intently when Cordelia speaks (something she isn’t used to) and she makes minutes fly by and silences comfortable and she sees Cordelia as intellectual and fascinating and worth more than her face and her figure and her name. Perhaps it comes from their shared gender. Perhaps it’s the warmth that flows from Misty’s every movement and gesture that’s impossible to block out. Perhaps it’s her compassion or her conviction, or her opinions or tone or history. Whatever it is, Cordelia is thankful, and she can’t believe that the strange Cajun girl who was thrust abruptly into her company a few months ago is a part of her life she doesn’t ever want to live without.

 

It’s a friendship she thought only existed in fairy stories.

 

Perhaps it’s the setting or the glow of the party or the cut of the dress, but Cordelia feels something that isn’t envy when she looks at Misty. The girl is good-looking, something she never would have denied, but since she’s never cared that much about the appearance of those around her, up until now she feels she’s been oblivious. Myrtle always did like to collect beautiful things, and she’s found a diamond in the rough with this girl.

 

“Are ya sure you’re ok? You seem a little distracted.”

 

“I am quite alright, Misty, I assure you.”

 

A grin slowly spreads across Misty’s face. “Then what are ya lookin’ at?”

 

Cordelia shrugs. “You.”

 

Misty lets out a soft flutter of laughter. “You don’t have to go back in there if ya don’t want to.”

 

“I don’t want to. I want to stay here.”

 

“Good. I’ll leave you to it.” She says with a teasing grin, then turns to leave, fully expecting it when Cordelia reaches out to take her arm and hold her there.

 

“You must stay with me.” Cordelia laughs.

 

“I shall, don’t worry yourself. As if I am going to have any fun in there anyway. I suppose I am presentable, but as soon as someone wants to talk, I get a social grillin’. I’d rather stay here away from all that.”

 

“Come on.” Says Cordelia, pushing herself off the wall. “Let’s go into the maze. I bet it’s wonderfully eerie at night.”

 

Misty hesitates only for a moment, before being drawn into the bold, mischievous glint in Cordelia’s eyes.

 

“Sounds thrilling.” She follows Cordelia over the lawn towards the maze, looming like a fortress in the dark.

 

There’s a playfulness in Cordelia’s face that Misty has never seen, and Cordelia thinks her tolerance for wine must be atrocious considering she only had two glasses but suddenly feels like she could disappear into the very trees themselves and sustain this night forever if she tried.

 

“You go in that way. I’ll take the other. We’ll race to the centre!”

 

Misty nods and hurries off. Cordelia lifts her skirts and runs into the maze. Locks of hair wriggle loose from restraints and curl around her face, eyes alight and heart pounding as she darts between tall hedges and slides round corner. Her blood pumps like a machine, but there’s nothing mechanical about this. She thinks of how angry her mother will be if she realises she’s left the ball to run around outside like a child. The thought thrills her. She thinks is she runs fast enough, the still air turning into a gale around her as she streams past, she can run herself back to childhood when everything was a little simpler and there were no slaves to bleed for and no men to marry.

 

She ducks round a corner and reaches a dead end. The night is still and silent and she is entirely lost. The moon is wonderfully bright, washing her surroundings in silvery splendour and every once of instinct in her is screaming that she should be scared; of the dark, of the night, of the maze and of the consequences. She isn’t, though; she’s exhilarated and alive and all she can think is that _she is going to get to the centre before Misty._

They arrive at the exact same time, bursting into the little clearing on opposite sides, out of breath, cheeks flushed, dresses rumpled and hair wild. They’ve never looked more alike.

 

“That’s a draw.” Pants Cordelia. Misty grins happily and ambles over to shake her hand.

 

“I was going deliberately slowly. I didn’t want you to be more upset with a defeat.”

 

Cordelia rolls her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

 

Misty just smiles back, and the silence is thick with something like magic as they pant and stare and smile.

 

The clearing has a small pond, a stone bench and a few tall trees, branches drooping and heavy with soft leaves. Cordelia hasn’t been here for a while. Misty has never been here before.

 

“I should really garden in here, but I don’t think I want to.” Says Misty, and Cordelia understands. There is a charm to its overgrown nature, like a fairy glade; all fertility and secrets. Cordelia seats herself on the bench to catch her breath and Misty observes the bright orange fish darting around in the pond with endless enthusiasm.

 

She doesn’t have anything to say, which makes a change when she’s with Misty. She can’t think of anything that would be worth breaking the silence. She’s lulled into an atmosphere of calm, of potential.

 

Misty moves over and walks among the trees, sliding in and out of shadow, her skirt trailing behind her slightly. Cordelia rises, having regained her composure a little, and moves closer to her, resting against the cool bark of one of the trees. Misty reaches up to touch a low-hanging fruit. She feels its texture, then leaves it be, and the way she caresses the branch as if it were conscious is mesmerising and confusing for Cordelia.

 

Then Misty turns to look at her, and she’s so enchanting in the moonlight that Cordelia thinks she may have to avert her eyes. Misty herself looks at Cordelia with wide eyes, but something changes in the air, and Cordelia’s stomach drops in anticipation of what Misty is about to say.

 

“Myrtle is leavin’. Only for a few months. She wishes to travel, I think even to leave the state. She has friends that need visiting and she’s been writing books that need publishing.”

 

Cordelia nods, vaguely aware of this fact, and unaware of where this is going.

 

Misty walks closer to her.

 

“I am to go with her.”

 

And there it is; the punch that her stomach prepared itself for.

 

“Why?” She manages through the mild haze of panic.

 

“To help her. To assist her on her journey and to keep her company at events. Fiona wouldn’t let her take you, but she has some sort of claim to me.”

 

Cordelia swallows hard, and takes several deep breaths.

 

“I leave tomorrow. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. I couldn’t face it. It won’t be forever. It will be three months at the most, and then I’ll be back and everything will be as it was. You needn’t worry, Cordelia. I’ll write to you every day, and I’ll think of you always…”

 

“It is an experience I’m sure you will enjoy…” Cordelia chokes out, thinking primarily of Misty and making her feel guilty. Cordelia’s vision narrows to her life before Misty, only worse, because she knows what it’s like to have her present, and now it will be taken from her and she will be left here in this prison without Misty or even Myrtle to quell her mother’s hatred. She knew things were going too well to last.

 

“Cordelia…” Misty approaches, but Cordelia moves away, leaning heavily against a tree. “Cordelia it won’t be for long. I’m sorry. I don’t have a choice. If I did I wouldn’t dream of leaving you. I don’t _want_ to leave you. Not now, especially.”

 

“You should have an opportunity to see some of the country. It will be enjoyable for you, I’m sure.” Her voice is tight. “I assure you I will be quite alright. I survived without you before and I can do so again.”

 

But Misty notices the tears in her eyes that she’s trying to hide and immense sadness fills her own.

 

“Cordelia…you are unhappy…please tell me why exactly…I’ve told you, I shall be back before you know it…”

 

“I suppose…I suppose I just don’t see that happening. I’ve had nurses and maids and friends and family come and go; always in that order. I’ve never had someone other than my mother and Myrtle to engage with for more than half a year. My father died, I have no siblings, any childhood friends left before I was ten, and despite the years I’m not used to living alone in this massive house. I don’t think I ever will be.” Cordelia looks at the ground. “I suppose I am unhappy because I can see you experiencing life outside. And who wouldn’t choose the world out there over this Hellhole? I am unhappy because I cannot see you coming back. And that scares me.”

 

“Cordelia, it isn’t going to be like that. Three months maximum. I will return. I intend to never leave you alone again. My time here has been blissful; and it certainly isn’t due to your mother and her lifestyle. Look, please don’t be unhappy…” Moonlight glints off silent tears streaming down Cordelia’s face. “Please, I don’t want to make you unhappy. But I had to tell you, or else you would have been even less happy. Please, Cordelia, tell me what you want me to do to make you better.”

 

Cordelia brushes at her eyes and sighs, looking at Misty’s imploring expression.

 

“What do I want you to do? I want you to come over here. I want you to look me in the eyes. I want you to kiss me goodbye and promise me you will come back.”

 

Misty has tears in her eyes as she moves towards Cordelia. She walks slowly, but without fear or reluctance. Her expression is serious, almost powerful. She is a good few inches taller, so has to look down to meet her eyes.

 

She stares openly into dark eyes, her gaze unwavering in its sincerity. Through her mild horror, Cordelia’s heart rate picks up.

 

Misty holds her face as she presses her lips to each of Cordelia’s cheeks. Something between affection and desperate sadness stirs in the bottom of her stomach, and it is both painful and wonderful. Misty holds her gaze again, before pressing her lips to Cordelia’s in a chaste, brief kiss, no more than a peck, which leaves Cordelia’s lips humming.

 

She pushes Cordelia’s hair behind her ear, her hand at her jaw, and looks deeply into her eyes once more. Cordelia feels the life of her crackle across the space between them and into her.

 

“I promise with every essence of me that I will come back. I will never abandon you; I swear it. I will be back at your side as quickly as possible.”

 

And in the magical, silvery glow of the moon with the ghost of her kiss on her skin, part of Cordelia believes her.

 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second installment. Please let me know if I've made any errors as it will annoy me if I have.
> 
> Let me know what you think. I love hearing from you guys!

Misty is gone by the time Cordelia wakes.

 

For some reason, she is glad she did not have to see her off. Her last memory of her stirs as her blood rushes to her cheeks and lips. A note was left for her. She recognises Misty’s untidy penmanship.

 

_I’ll be back before the season changes. Write to me. I shall think of you always, and the warmth I have found in your friendship._

_Do not despair, Cordelia. Time will fly and I soon shall be back at your side._

She included an address for her first stop so that Cordelia may write, and Cordelia tucks the letter into the cover of her pillow.

 

Fiona allows Cordelia respite from her studies, but with little else to occupy herself, Cordelia aims to do little else.

 

-0-0-0-

 

The time does not fly as Misty promised. It drags, like each day is as reluctant as Cordelia to leave its bed.

 

She does not mope. She never has. She gets on with life, diverging from her routine as little as possible. She rises early, dresses, eats, reads, studies, lunches, plays the piano, practises her embroidery, all the while distracting herself from the silence. She aims to learn two languages. Latin is almost mastered, and so she turns her attention to French literature.

 

It is most obvious during her walks.

 

She likes the fresh air and the smell of the garden, the sun setting over the landscape as spring wears on. The flowers flourish and Spalding struggles to keep up with the pace of nature without Misty’s aid. And Cordelia walks through the grounds, alone, thinking on things she’s read and questions it’s raised, thinking not of the very empty space beside her.

 

She writes to Misty every day, and Misty’s responses are delayed since she doesn’t have a permanent place of residence. She emphasises how much she misses Cordelia, but she cannot keep the excitement out of her letters. Misty is experiencing the world and all its small wonders, and she evidently loves it. She is enjoying her trip and Cordelia remains trapped at home. Every letter ends the same way: _“I wish you were with me”._ Never the other way around.

 

She hates being angry when a letter arrives late, when she wakes and there is no mail for her. She hates that she resents Myrtle for giving Misty experience of the world and taking her away and showing her all the life she’s missing. She hates that she’s bitter and jealous and it’s anything but Misty’s fault.

 

She hates that she can only wait.

 

-0-0-0-

 

Fiona invites the Foxxes over, believing it to be beneficial if their children spend some time together before the wedding, perhaps even hoping Cordelia will warm to Hank.

 

Misty’s letter are becoming more and more disparate and infrequent. She apologises, stating that a life on the move makes it difficult. Cordelia only resents this in that she cannot read what Misty has to say as often as she would like.

 

Hank Foxx is accommodating. He walks with her, compliments her, listens to her talk, and is in all ways polite and gentlemanly. Cordelia convinces herself that it isn’t the end of the world if he never seems to take her opinions seriously, or that conversation is limited, or that he talks mainly of himself. He is not vicious like her mother. Not to Cordelia anyway.

 

She tolerates him. She convinces herself she may even grow to care for him, but when he gives what is evidently a dismissal when he wishes to talk with his father on serious matters, it is clear he will never see her as an equal, more likely than not on account of her gender.

 

Still, she has no choice. She’d take apathy over hatred any day.

 

Interactions are usually awkward and even once she eases herself into it, she finds it difficult to engage with him beyond small talk. He seems content with this. She feels her brain growing dusty.

 

She doesn’t hear from Misty for a week. It has been three months and four days and spring is turning quickly to summer. She accepts the loneliness as an inevitability, and doesn’t let the negative thoughts overwhelm her. Well, not until she is safe and alone in her bed, that is, where her sobs won’t be heard or answered. Misty is out there; the only person Cordelia has ever felt a connection to, a friendship that she was certain would last until death, and the world has taken her. She moves through her days heavy and miserable, unstimulated and unenthusiastic about another period of existing without her companion.

 

“Lord Foxx and Hank are coming today.”

 

“They are?”

 

“Yes. So no insolence or stupid remarks. Go and have Delphine make sure lunch is ready and plentiful. And please have your handmaid do your hair again; you need to look at least a little presentable.”

 

Cordelia rises without comment and leaves her mother to survey the documents on her desk. If she is careful, she may be able to avoid her for the rest of the day.

 

The Foxxes arrive exactly on time, and Hank greets Cordelia in the usual way. They eat lunch. Fiona is simperingly pleasant, unusual and uncomfortable until she stabs a fork into Cordelia’s thigh when she fidgets under Hank’s gaze. He stares at her a lot, despite being acquainted with her extensively, and it makes her feel like a hog being selected for slaughter, like her skin will bubble off her bones. She’s pretty sure that isn’t a good sign.

 

“How about you two go for a walk? Perhaps the maze is pleasant this time of year?”

 

“I’d like that very much.”

 

Cordelia feels Hank’s eyes slide back to her after his statement, and nods politely her assent.

 

The maze is a lot less exciting and a lot more claustrophobic under the glare of the sun. He walks with her, and they get lost together, and part of her enjoys herself a little with something to occupy the time she must spend with him. With numerous dead ends met and having to turn back on themselves several times, they reach the centre.

 

Cordelia swallows down memories of wide eyes and gentle touches and the despair in her stomach makes her feel slightly nauseated. This is not the time for that.

 

“It is lovely here.” He notes aloud. “It could do with tending to, though.” He nudges a fern, growing a little wild, with his foot.

 

Cordelia stands beside a tree, her mind somewhere else entirely. He approaches and she doesn’t fully process this until he stands before her and she pushes thoughts of curls and moonlight out of her head.

 

Out of nowhere he kisses her.

 

She freezes in shock. The sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant but his beard scratches her and his grip is a little tight and her stomach drops and she is _not ready_ for this, not now, nor did she ask for it. It makes everything too real, too sudden, and she finds herself disgusted.

 

She pushes him away.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr Foxx. You gave me a fright.”

 

She doesn’t like being touched so much. It’s something she’s never considered before, as her mother never does touch her, and Myrtle doesn’t really either. Her isolation has made human contact foreign and a little difficult to handle, evidently. She isn’t surprised to note that Misty is an exception.

 

He apologises, and he’s smiling with something like triumph. They walk back out of the maze, Hank telling her about his hunting trip while Cordelia curls further and further in on herself.

 

“There you are! It’s time to dine. Have you enjoyed yourselves?”

 

“Certainly.” Says Hank.

 

Cordelia says nothing.

 

-0-0-0-

 

Cordelia takes turns round the drawing room. The fire flickers down to embers as the evening wears on. The wind rattles the windowpanes. She’s too deep in thought to notice.

 

There is no way out of this. She realises her situation could be worse, but when she considers her future, she knows it will be tied to his, however far forward she thinks. She will live in his house, with his arrogant father and his poor slaves and she will spend her whole life being silent and submissive, bearing his children and meeting his friends.

 

It isn’t a future she wants.

 

She can’t run, she can’t refuse, she is more likely to be able to kill her mother than convince her to call off the engagement. She’s trapped; not just in her house, and not just by her mother. This is to be her life.

 

She sits before the fire.

 

“What can I do?” She whispers to herself in the silence.

 

“’Hello’ might be a good start.”

 

She’s risen to her feet without realising. She can hear her pulse thudding behind her eyes. Misty stands in the open doorway with a smile on her face.

 

Cordelia thinks she must be dreaming. She’s had dreams like this. Something starts to sting and twist in her chest. But Misty holds her luggage, which she then drops to the floor. She wears a dress Cordelia has never seen before and she’s more beautiful than she remembers.

 

Cordelia isn’t aware if she’s smiling or not, but she walks over to the other woman with purpose and pulls her into a surprisingly forceful embrace. She’s drowning in the smell of soil and flowers after rain that she didn’t realise she’d missed. She feels strong arms tense around her and she takes a deep breath like she’s come up for air.

 

Misty’s hands drift across her back and rest by her hips and she can feel her smiling into her shoulder and it’s been little over three months but she is _so unspeakably happy_ to see her again that she has trouble forming a sentence.

 

Luckily, Misty is as talkative as ever.

 

“I’m sorry, Cordelia, I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long and I haven’t written in a while, but I’m back and I ain’t goin’ anywhere now. I’m going to stay right here with you I promise.”

 

Cordelia wants to laugh at her own pathetic nature as she fights back tears as Misty pulls away to look at her, holding her hands and smiling like sunshine and it’s like all the worry and sadness of the past weeks disappears in an instant and Cordelia smiles, properly, for the first time since Misty left.

 

“I’m so happy to see you. I’ve missed you like hell.”

 

Cordelia just nods. Her hands grip Misty’s like she isn’t going to let go.

 

“It felt like years…” She manages.

 

Misty nods. “I think I _just_ made my promise. The season’s just about to change.”

 

Cordelia nods. She’d forgive the girl anything right now.

 

“It’s late, and I’ve travelled a long way today…” The rings on Misty’s fingers begin to warm to the temperature of Cordelia’s palms. “Do ya think we could talk upstairs? I’m not ready to say goodbye again just yet.”

 

Cordelia nods eagerly. “Come to my room.” The two prepare themselves for the night and Misty seats herself opposite Cordelia on her bed, cross-legged, nightdress bunching around her knees.

 

“And we spent two days with this French fella, and he had these two huntin’ hounds that were like little bundles of excitement. I miss those guys. They used to sit under my chair at dinner ‘cause I’d sneak ‘em bits of food.”

 

Cordelia doesn’t mind sitting quietly and listening now. She wants to devour Misty’s presence, every lilt of her voice and every one of her memories. She bites her bottom lip as she smiles.

 

“We could get you some, if you’d like? Dogs, I mean.”

 

Misty’s grin is there again, eyes bright. “We could?”

 

“No harm in asking.” Cordelia shrugs.

 

Misty shifts in excitement, and tells Cordelia of her art lessons with a painted Myrtle knows, and how terrible she was at portraits and realism. She recounts dinners and meetings and the food she ate and the beauty of the country and the life in the city, and Cordelia listens with awe and envy.

 

Misty pauses for breath, and sees Cordelia looking at her wistfully. Misty smiles sheepishly.

 

“Sorry. I’ve been goin’ on a little. That ain’t fair.”

 

“No, I’m certainly not complaining. You’re description is likely the closest I am going to get.”

 

“Your husband might take you round? You ain’t got that long to wait before you can leave the estate and see a bit more of the world.”

 

“I think my husband might believe anything past a stroll round the grounds too much for me.” Cordelia notes bitterly. Misty looks confused, prompting her to elaborate. “He has been here on many occasions since you left. We are to get to know each other, according to mother. He talks predominantly about himself, and considers me more fragile than I am, as well as naïve since I am a woman. I find myself disliking him more with every meeting.”

 

She hadn’t intended on voicing these opinions in the hope that they might weaken and make her life easier, but Misty is a catalyst for her honesty.

 

The Cajun sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. It must be awful. I’m here to chaperone ya if you ever want me to be there so you two aren’t alone.”

 

Cordelia smiles at the thought. “I appreciate the sentiment, thank you.”

 

Misty looks at her with her eyebrows drawn together a little. She leans forward and raises a hand, and Cordelia manages not to flinch, as has become her instinct whenever someone gets too close. Misty runs her finger gently down the locks of hair framing Cordelia’s face, pushing them back slightly. She smiles, and it’s small this time.

 

“You look real pretty with your hair loose, Cordelia.”

 

Cordelia is momentarily confused, before realising Misty has never seen her like this, and blushing to her roots. She glances down and shifts were she sits and the attention is different this time; she feels flattered not scrutinised, it makes her feel confident not self-conscious.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Misty stifles a yawn and stands.

 

“I’d better be going to bed. Sleep is a luxury, I have found over these past months of night trains.”

 

Cordelia nods, but on impulse, she reaches out and grabs Misty’s hand.

 

She’s been apart from her for three months; she doesn’t want to be separated for another second.

 

“Stay with me. Stay here. Please.”

 

Misty looks a little surprised, an expression not often found on her face. She glances from Cordelia’s face, to her spacious four-poster bed, to the hand holding hers, back to her face.

 

“Cordelia, I thought you said no one had ever –“

 

“I did. I never said it was by my choice.”

 

It takes only a beat of silence for Misty to move back to the bed in surrender. Cordelia pulls back the sheets and Misty climbs in beside her. The situation is new and strange, and not unpleasant.

 

Misty blows out the candle on the bedside table. The only light is the moon through the gaps in the curtains. They can only just make out each other’s silhouettes.

 

“Hank kissed me.”

 

“He did what?”

 

“He kissed me. In the centre of the maze. I pushed him away. It was a bit of a shock.”

 

“That’s out of line.”

 

“He’s my fiancé. He is permitted to.”

 

“No he is not. He cannot just force himself on you like that.”

 

“I didn’t mind too much. When I told him no he didn’t continue.”

 

Misty seems pacified, although tense with anger.

 

“If he tries anythin’ you’re uncomfortable with again, I’ll kill him.”

 

Cordelia doesn’t think Misty capable of taking the life of anything, but there’s a certain level of threat and danger in her tone that makes her heart rate pick up a little.

 

“I’ll be sure to let you know.”

 

Silence falls and Misty’s breathing deepens and she lies facing Cordelia. The latter watches her close her eyes. Cordelia is scared to sleep lest she wake and find this has all been a dream and Misty is still far away from her. She raises a hand and delicately traces across Misty’s face with her index finger; along sculpted cheekbones and softened brows, skirting down her nose to run over her lips. Misty smiles in some limbo between sleep and consciousness.

 

“I missed you too. Terribly.” Cordelia whispers.

 

She falls asleep soon after, lying beside Misty.

 

-0-0-0-

 

And all of a sudden it’s like the dam has broken and Cordelia lets her feelings flow free.

 

She spends all the time she can with Misty, no longer pretending that she has anything she enjoys doing more. They are permitted to ride on horseback on an evening as the days lengthen, and Misty shows a certain prowess when it comes to controlling the animal, letting loose and cantering through the open fields at the boundary of the Goode estate. Cordelia has been taught to ride as a lady. She sits side-saddle, upright, a light trot being her natural pace. After a few sessions, she sits astride and gallops through trees and grass, wind whipping her skirts and hair and laughing into the open outdoors, as Misty does.

 

They read together, they eat together, they frequently study together, they walk together, they ride together. Their lessons are separate, and Misty remains stationed in her own room at night, but spends increasingly large amounts of time in Cordelia’s in the evening.

 

They’re inseparable.

 

It is something Fiona notes, but does not trouble herself with. Cordelia should be fawning over her handsome fiancé, as girls her age do, despite Cordelia being slightly older than most eligible girls in her generation by a year or two. Fiona now thinks perhaps she should have married her off sooner, as Cordelia seems entirely uninterested, even a little frightened of Hank Foxx. He seems a gentleman, although very different to her daughter, and Cordelia has always been feeble and shy.

 

Misty is distracting her, that is certain, but perhaps that isn’t a bad thing. Cordelia is the happiest Fiona has ever seen her, something of little importance if it weren’t making her a lot more agreeable. Misty appears to be taking Cordelia’s mind off her impending marriage, a marriage she has voiced her dislike of, and yet now she complains less, she is less stubborn, in fact she mostly just stays out of Fiona’s way.

 

This is a good thing.

 

Fiona decides to let things be; a friend might mean Cordelia is less irritable and antisocial in the long run. She’d keep a close eye on them both, though, lest the little swamp rat should put any unsavoury ideas in her daughter’s susceptible head.

 

-0-0-0-

 

Cordelia reads to Misty from the English novel she has been working her way through. She feels the weight of the words, practises sizing them up, as Misty lies with her head in Cordelia’s lap, gazing up at the clouds and the birds.

 

Cordelia puts her book down as the sun creeps out from behind a cloud, temporarily blinding her. Misty tilts her head back like a cat warming itself. Cordelia smiles hopelessly and twists a curl of the other’s blonde hair around her index finger idly.

 

“We’re gonna change the world, me and you.”

 

Cordelia ponders this. “You think so?”

 

“Yes.” Misty says with conviction, opening her eyes to observe her. “Maybe not by much, maybe not enough to be remembered, but we’ll get out of here and we’ll get free and we’ll do some good. You’re Ma can’t stop us. It’s going to happen, ain’t nothing she can do.”

 

Cordelia laughs happily at the ridiculous notion. “I aim to, Misty. And if I am to change the world, I can think of no one better to change it with.”

 

Misty beams. “Just a little bit at a time. Things will change, they always do. You’ve got me now and I ain’t gonna let them keep you locked up for much longer.”

 

The sun has seeped into Misty’s bones and skin and brought her to a new level of life that Cordelia didn’t think possible in a person. She’s ambitious and determined and a little delusional, but in a way that is so happy that it could only ever be endearing. It’ll pass with the season, Cordelia suspects, but she allows herself to live in the fantasy for a bit, to stay in this world of green and golden and sun and smiles and reading and riding.

 

“We shall change the world. We need now only find in what way.” Cordelia asserts confidently, turning her attention to the sky as well.

 

-0-0-0-

 

“Mother, I sat through it last week. He needn’t come so frequently.”

 

“I disagree. You spend far too much time idle. It’s that damn Cajun, she’s teaching you the passivity of her community. You need to work, Delia, you need to try.”

 

“I’m working harder than I ever have. I’m almost trilingual –“

 

“You are rarely present in lessons, according to Myrtle.”

 

“I read elsewhere.”

 

“’Elsewhere’ meaning with Misty. That isn’t _working_ , that’s _slacking_. I have half a mind to dismiss her for being such a distraction.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

“Why would I not?”

 

“Because I’m agreeing to everything you ask me to do. Because she’s making me more pliant because I’m happier. She’s made me better. She’s made me alive.”

 

“I couldn’t give a damn whether or not you feel fulfilled. You’re a spoilt little brat who doesn’t understand how harsh the world is, but you’re my daughter and if you want me to overlook your complacency, you’ll do as I say. Hank will visit in two days. I expect he will propose formally.”

 

“What’s the point? I have to say yes.”

 

“It’s a nice gesture. Cheer up, Delia. He won’t want you with a face like a month of Sundays. And don’t mess this up, you make things so difficult for yourself sometimes.”

 

-0-0-0-

 

Hank comes, and Cordelia suffers through another meeting. Although, Fiona stays absent, deciding her time has more practical uses, and leaves them be. This means Misty is able to “chaperone” Cordelia.

 

When Hank meets her, he looks surprised. An individual draped in loose fabric, metal bangles and beaded necklaces is far from the norm in such an environment. Misty is polite, and it’s so forced that Cordelia tries not to laugh. Being so used to a smile that chases away rain, it’s fairly obvious when the smile acts more like an umbrella.

 

Misty walks a small distance behind them, although as Hank rants about slaves and the government and the weather, Misty catches Cordelia’s hand and holds it for a while, receiving a thankful pressure in response. The sun is hot, so much so that when Hank and Cordelia sit on a bench, she shifts in discomfort at the heat prickling her in her tight bodice. Misty drapes herself languidly among the roots of a tree, scooping up a spider and watching in fascination as it crawls across her palms. Cordelia watches her subtly as Hank talks, marvelling at the way the girl’s brow furrows in gentle concentration as she holds the tiny creature carefully, the perspiration forming round her hairline, her curls illuminated by the high sun, the way the pale skin of her collarbone rises and falls with every calm breath.

 

Being with Hank seems a lot more bearable when Misty is there as a distraction.

 

As they walk back to the house, Hank takes Cordelia’s hand and stops her walking, glancing up at Misty who looks instantly aware.

 

“Do you mind if I have a moment alone with Cordelia, Miss Day?”

 

Misty looks very much like she wants to say she does indeed mind, but Cordelia gives a small, curt nod. It is expected. She may leave.

 

Misty drifts off to glide among the flowerbeds, inspecting the precious life around her, while Hank draws Cordelia into a more secluded area of trees and bushes. Suddenly she wishes her friend were with her once more.

 

“I know it is all arranged, but I shall do this properly, as father advised.” He lowers himself to his knee and takes Cordelia’s stiff hand once more. She flinches and tenses, but her heart rate remains steady. She knew this was to happen.

 

“It would give me great honour, Cordelia Goode, if you would agree to becoming my wife.”

 

Cordelia gives a small smile and nods. “I will, sir.”

 

He smiles at his victory, and gets back to his feet. She is once more taken aback as he kisses her, but she remains still and submissive, deciding she should probably let him “claim her” to make him less disagreeable later.

 

He senses her reluctance, so presses harder, more persistently. On reflex, she pushes at his chest and he pulls away.

 

“It is ok.” He says, taking her face in his hands. She takes a step back. He follows. “You needn’t be afraid anymore. We are to be married. You have nothing to hide, nothing to fear.”

 

“I would rather preserve myself, sir.” She stutters as he looms closer.

 

“Nonsense, there’s no need. You’re being ridiculous.”

 

When he kisses her again, she suddenly can’t breathe, like he’s sucking the air out of her. His lips are heavy and his presence is crushing and she tells herself to wait for him to finish, but she is unable to.

 

She wrenches herself away and takes several paces back until she reaches a tree.

 

“I do not wish for this to go any further, sir.”

 

“It is simple a kiss, Cordelia. We are engaged; it is allowed.”

 

“I do not want it, thank you.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You will need to be familiar with me on this level, if our wedding night is to be any sort of success at all.”

 

And it’s as if she sees this for what it is, for what it will become. She sees herself cowering under her new husband, closing her eyes and silencing her thoughts. A life of quiet protest and unspoken resentment; that is what awaits her.

 

She will never be happy married to him.

 

She knows that for certain now.

 

He comes near again and her vision swims red and her head is hot and her pulse is violent and all she can see is his face getting closer and closer and she’s terrified that she will have to resort to force.

 

She prepares to push him away, but someone else gets there first.

 

Misty’s blow strikes him across his cheek, hard enough to leave a mark, and she pushes him hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. She places herself consciously between him and Cordelia, her stance like a magpie protecting its hoard, like a lion standing between the hunter and the last of its litter.

 

“Leave her, you pig.”

 

“What on earth are you doing?! You’re _mad_!”

 

“You’re mad if you think there’s anything right or honourable in what you’re tryin’ to do. I won’t allow it. You leave her alone, or I’ll cut off whatever part of ya _dares_ touch her when she don’t want it.”

 

Hank Foxx looks like he’s only just realized he’s been slapped in the face. He retreats, then advances in a rage, squaring up to Misty. Cordelia watches in utter admiration as the girl, a good head shorter than him, doesn’t show even a glimmer of fear at his confrontational stance and the anger in his eyes.

 

“Watch your mouth, swamp rat. Remember your place. You aren’t born of this kin, and where you come from, I’m not surprised you never learnt manners. You’re no higher than a slave, in my eyes, and I’ll string you up all the same if you misbehave.”

 

Misty just smiles, but it isn’t the smile Cordelia has grown to crave, it’s a dangerous, vindictive smirk that crawls across pale lips and glitters in sea storm eyes. It’s a smile of utter contempt, of amusement that anyone could be so stupid, and Cordelia sees that the sun in Misty is actually that; fire, destructive and volatile. It creates something violent and enlightening in the bottom of Cordelia’s stomach.

 

“There isn’t a slave on your plantation that ain’t worth ten of you. You ain’t fit to look upon Miss Cordelia, let alone touch her. Go. Tell your father. Cry to him about how ya forced yourself on your future wife, and then got hurt real bad by her little female companion. I’m sure that will go down real well.”

 

The sun has set without Cordelia noticing, and Misty gives Hank a stare colder than Cordelia ever thought the girl could muster, then takes the elder’s hand and leads her purposefully towards the house, away from Hank, who stands, dumbstruck, with a red handprint across his cheek.

 

-0-0-0-

 

They meet Fiona and Lord Foxx in the drawing room as they try to hurry through it.

 

“There you are! It’s getting late. Where is Hank?” Asks Fiona.

 

“He’s outside. He’ll be along.” Misty says assuredly. Cordelia opens and closes her mouth, not quite able to form coherent speech yet.

 

“Good. I trust you’ve had a pleasant evening?”

 

Cordelia manages a nod and a wobbly smile. Misty has let her hand go as they entered, but without her hold, Cordelia doesn’t know what to do with her arms, suddenly self-conscious.

 

“Indeed. I think we shall retire. It’s been a long day and we are tired from the heat. If that is acceptable, ma’am?”

 

Fiona looks taken aback slightly by Misty’s sudden eloquence, but nods. “Yes, what a good idea.”

 

She opens her mouth to ask if Cordelia has bid farewell to Hank, but Misty has taken her hand again and led her out of the door and up the stairs.

 

Once dressed for bed, Cordelia’s thoughts are louder than ever. She paces her room, her hair loose over her shoulders, and her mind muddled and sluggish.

 

Her door cracks open. Misty enters as always; without invitation, yet with a trace of being slightly nervous that she isn’t wanted. She takes a few steps into the room and crosses her arms.

 

“Are ya alright, Cordelia? Be honest.”

 

Something stirs softly in Cordelia’s stomach that grows increasingly aggressive as seconds pass. She sets her jaw and straightens her spine.

 

“No. I am not.”

 

Misty shuts the door and leans against it. There’s anger in Cordelia’s voice that she wasn’t expecting.

 

“Misty, that was _so dangerous_. I appreciate the thought, but you clearly didn’t consider what you were doing. These consequences could be severe.”

 

Misty frowns. “So I was just supposed to let him assault ya?”

 

“You were supposed to make sure mother doesn’t have a reason to get rid of you. You were _supposed_ to think before you acted.”

 

Misty shakes her head. “No, Cordelia, I stand by what I did. He was out of line. I set him straight. I told ya I would protect you and I intend to keep my word. I ain’t scared of them.”

 

Her naïve bravery and optimism irks Cordelia, because she doesn’t seem to quite realise what she’s done.

 

“You should be. They’re powerful. My mother may have you removed from the house, but attacking Lord Foxx’s son will have much worse consequences if he tells anyone.”

 

“You ain’t hearin’ me. I am _never_ going to sit by and watch someone hurt ya. You’re suggestin’ I did something wrong in protecting you.”

 

“Misty, stopping Hank Foxx get a little too close is _certainly_ not worth what may happen to you as a result. Trust me, I know his kind.”

 

“It is.”

 

“ _No_ it isn’t!” Cordelia turns away from Misty to look out of the window. Hank Foxx could be telling his father everything at that very moment. Suddenly she remembers Hank’s words… _I’ll string you up all the same…_

“Misty, I can’t let them take you away. I can’t let them hurt you…especially not because of me…”

 

“Then who’s gonna look out for ya? Your Ma sure ain’t. And I know ya try, but ya can’t do it for yourself.”

 

“You think me weak-willed?” Cordelia turns to face her again, stance defensive. This is an unexpected time for their first argument to occur.

 

“I think ya have been bred to be yielding. It ain’t your fault, but it means you’re vulnerable. Out in the real world, I saw what they do to the vulnerable. I’ve got to protect you, ya see.”

 

“I can look after myself, Misty.”

 

“No, _you can’t_! I always thought there’s stone in ya, it’s there at the edge of your gaze, in the way you hold yourself. You ain’t weak, Cordelia, you’ve just spent so long pretending to be that you’re believin’ it yourself. You can make your own decisions, but tonight ya did nothing, so I had to do something!”

 

“Misty, sometimes you have to be complacent. Sometimes you have to let things slide and force a smile to avoid something worse happening. I’d rather be violated by Hank Foxx than see him punish you. That is the decision I made.”

 

“You can’t keep making that decision! You can’t keep being the submissive or he’ll walk all over you! You have to show him it ain’t right, that he can’t just do that to you, regardless of the consequences for me.”

 

Cordelia is angry; that comes as a surprise. Misty looks equally irate, and she realises that this argument effectively boils down to who gets to protect who. Misty’s unabashed bravery and devotion would make Cordelia weak-kneed if she wasn’t talking about being reckless with her own safety; something of huge importance to Cordelia.

 

“He couldseriously hurt you, Misty!”

 

“He _was_ seriously hurting you, Cordelia!”

 

“Why are you making this so difficult?!” And suddenly Cordelia doesn’t know if she’s talking about the argument or her existence. And she doesn’t think it makes much difference.

 

“Because I care about you too much to sit and let the people around you fight and tear at ya until there’s nothin’ left. I’m not gonna let it happen any more.”

 

“Well I care about _you_ too much to have you punished for something as stupid as that. I can take care of myself, I assure you. I have survived this long on keeping quiet, and it will serve me in the future.”

 

“You’ll be _miserable_ –“

 

“I _am_ miserable!” Cordelia’s voice is raised to the pitch of shouting, and Misty looks taken aback as her demure demeanour vanishes. “This life would be paradise to most but it’s as if my entire existence is dictated be a woman who _hates_ me. No, it isn’t ‘as if’, it is _literally_ that. I keep quiet and calm because I dare not let anything show for fear of _this_ happening!”

 

The heat has added volume to Misty’s wild hair, and her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are like blades and Cordelia trembles where she stands, her head pounding.

 

“I am… _miserable_ …and the one thing that made life bearable, _enjoyable_ even…that made me feel like there was something other than the path my mother bound and blinkered me to…was you…” She sighs heavily.

 

“Misty if you want to make me happy, if you want to keep me safe, protect me from myself. I will only be happy if you are safe. If anything were to happen to you, what would I do? I’d be swallowed by darkness. If you wish to put my safety before yours, do the reverse.”

 

Cordelia is breathing heavily. This is exhausting her emotions to the point where the pain turns physical.

 

“I can’t.” Misty says firmly. “I’ve been here long enough to know it ain’t good, Cordelia. The way they treat ya ain’t right. I’m a guest, so I kept quiet, but you’re abused daily and brush it off because the wounds aren’t physical, because ya cover them with silk and velvet. You’re repressed, isolated, and unhappy, and I can’t bear to see it any longer…” Misty holds her gaze intensely, unblinkingly.

 

“And you should be bitter. You should be cruel and cold and angry, and ya ain’t. It’s a miracle. You’re so gentle, and careful, and considerate, and warm and I have no idea how. Goodness took root in ya somewhere along to road, and it’s been growin’ strong against the darkness that’s tried to poison it. Not while I’m around. I refuse to stand by while they hurt you.”

 

Cordelia feels her stubbornness flame anger in her. Couldn’t she see that there wasn’t this option? That they needed to stay safe so they could stay together?

 

“And I ain’t worth it. I’ve lived for twenty years and I’ve never had someone like you. And ya ask me to let that be smothered, when ya look at me with such sisterly affection that I can’t –“

 

And then Cordelia sees it.

 

It’s like someone doused her with cold water, the shock, the relief at no longer being in pain. She sees the softness in Misty’s eyes, she thinks of the moonlight in her hair, the way her heart stopped then sped up when she saw her the night of the Spring Ball. She thinks of the way you reel in a fish on a line, the way you draw insects to a flame, the way Misty smiled at her before she knew her, the first time they set eyes on each other. She thinks of her mother’s words and Hank’s hands and Misty’s fire and compassion. She thinks of the silence when she left, and the utter bliss of her return, like she was the antidote to this curse.

 

Every experience she’s had with the Cajun girl rushes through her head, like a torrent of water after the dam has broken. And it’s so _painfully obvious_ that she feels a relief at identifying what has been missing.

 

“ _’Sisterly’?_ ” She asks, and it comes out as a choked, disbelieving, desperate flutter of laughter. She crosses the room to reach Misty in the blink of an eye. “Call you it _‘sisterly’_?!”

 

Misty’s back hits the door as Cordelia pushes her against it, crushing their lips together. Misty gasps in a breath, and freezes in shock, and Cordelia feels like her chest might rip open and her heart might bleed out. She’s reminded of the suffocating pressure of Hank and weakens her grip slightly but Misty’s hands flutter up her neck to hold her face and the kiss is a violent, angry mess but it is a kiss all the same and the shock of it all causes Cordelia to pull away as Misty starts to reciprocate to drag air into her lungs.

 

“Was that _‘sisterly’_?” Misty just exhales shakily. Cordelia feels it against her mouth as they stand close still, bodies touching, noses bumping. “I _burn_ for you…and it’s pushing me to madness.”

 

Misty screws her eyes shut and leans into Cordelia, like she’s straining against her tether.

 

“Cordelia…” She says her name slowly, holding each syllable reverently, like a prayer.

 

Cordelia takes a step back, vulnerable and alive and she’s so glad she can hear her heartbeat in her ears because it means it’s working and she’s living and she’s finally awake. Misty’s expression is distraught. She’s frowning, breathing heavily, her surprise painted in pink across her cheeks, and there appear to be tears in her eyes. Cordelia thinks perhaps she doesn’t look much different.

 

“I can’t marry him. It’ll kill me. It shall be easier than living with mother, but that doesn’t matter. At least here I know it isn’t forever. I shall be living in silence, living a _lie_ , forever.”

 

“Don’t marry him.” Misty manages. “She can’t make you. We’ll leave. You need to get out. It’s slowly stiflin’ you here.”

 

Cordelia sobs suddenly like she’s been punched in the stomach. There is no way out. She’s so angry and tears blur her vision and streak fire down her cheeks and she wants to break something and collapse and she takes a step back and turns away from Misty’s wide gaze to see the moon as it is revealed by a heavy bank of cloud.

 

“Cordelia, please… _please…_ I can’t…I never wanted you to be upset…”

 

“I wish you’d never have come here and just left me alone in ignorance to live my dull little life with apathy and complacency.” She says, and it’s a little vicious, but Misty flinches only a little. She stands up straight from leaning against the door.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I _never_ wanted to make you upset. Please…please look at me, Cordelia…”

 

She stays, still, watching the moon in its peaceful vigil. Tears flow freely now, and Misty throws caution to the wind and approaches quietly. Cordelia knows she comes nearer and tenses on impulse as she feels her warmth behind her. Misty’s touch is hesitant, like she’s afraid of spooking the other woman, but she rests her hand lightly on Cordelia’s shoulder. She feels her relax slightly, involuntarily, and she smooths her hand down the other’s back and loops it round her waist. She’s so narrow and fragile, but her skin isn’t porcelain, it’s ivory, and there’s iron beneath the silk, and Misty sees her jaw set hard and her face surprisingly neutral as she tries to fight back more tears.

 

She uses her other hand to move Cordelia’s hair away from her shoulder. Her breath dusts across pale skin, raising goosebumps, and she presses a soft kiss to the curve of her neck, then whispers close to her ear.

 

“There ain’t nowhere to go. It’s like we’re lost in that maze again. There ain’t no place for us here. It’s all out now, and it’s difficult I know. I know, Cordelia…” She moves even closer so she’s pressed against Cordelia’s back and she feels a crack in the other’s exterior as she trembles a little. Misty brushes her lips along her shoulder and jaw, feather-light touches of teasing potential, and Cordelia feels like throwing herself out of the window just to alleviate the pressure inside like a coiled spring. She did not see any of this coming, nor is it something she would have chosen, but choice left the situation a long time ago.

 

She turns in Misty’s arms and lets the air swirl and crackle around them as her arms wind themselves round Misty’s neck, hands tangling in her hair that slips over her fingers like they fit there. There’s a tug in her heart and a burning in her stomach and it’s like everything she _should_ have felt with her betrothed hits her with twice the force and _how has it taken her this long to see what was twirling and smiling in front of her all along?_

It’s a few moments of the gap between them steadily closing before Misty loses her patience and eliminates the rest of it. There’s a gentle reverence in the touch, and it’s slower than its predecessor. Cordelia’s whole system floods with an unfamiliar sensation that leaves her shaken to the core, and it’s a wonder she ever deluded herself into thinking her feelings towards the girl could be platonic because kissing her is like the excitement of the night in the maze and the warmth of reading in the sun together and the wonder at seeing her dresses for the ball and the exhilaration of riding through wild pasture. She has no idea what she is doing, but it must be something right when she opens her mouth against Misty’s and meets her tongue with her own because Misty’s grip tightens and she pulls Cordelia closer.

 

Cordelia pulls away and it’s like the air is being pushed out of her lungs but she suddenly doesn’t pay heed to not breathing any more. She looks at Misty through tear-blurred eyes, like the edge of blown glass, and Misty looks straight back at her, shocked and a little thrilled at this new discovery. Cordelia is dragged back to her lips by the same force that has had her longing for Misty’s company with every second of her being, but she does not linger long, just presses another kiss to Misty’s mouth then drags herself away slowly, like tearing off a piece of her soul.

 

She strokes her hand through Misty’s signature curls then shakes her head dejectedly and moves away, sitting heavily on the bed with a resigned sigh.

 

“I must marry him. I _shall_ marry him. I cannot risk you because I am a little discontent.”

 

Misty’s gaze is unfocused as she drags herself back to the present. There’s a new glint to her eyes, a new light, which radiates at the surface as if just uncovered. She is blushing again. Cordelia thinks the colour suits her wonderfully. She is an angel of surprise with her blonde hair and white nightgown.

 

“This is never gonna work out. Either path you take will end in us both bein’ miserable. ‘Cause I don’t care what happens to me, but you do, and I’d die before I let you suffer the fate you’re facin’.” Her accent seems heavier, her voice thicker. It sends a shiver down Cordelia’s spine to the bottom of her stomach.

 

Cordelia brushes away tears irately. She stands and walks over to the window again, and Misty takes her vacated seat on the bed. Her gaze flicks from the floor to Cordelia.

 

“This cannot go any further, Misty. I cannot lose myself. I cannot lose you. Any closer, and it will kill me.”

 

Misty is silent. Cordelia wipes away more tears as they fall like her hopes and splash on the windowsill. She hates her weakness. She envies Misty’s strength.

 

“Cordelia, please look at me.” What can she do but oblige? She isn’t conscious of approaching the other woman until she stands before her, looking down at her as she sits on her bed.

 

“I see where you’re comin’ from, but it’s a fantasy. It’s useless. We’re lost now.” She slowly, _so slowly_ , takes Cordelia’s hands, smoothing over the back of them, tracing her palms, then knotting their fingers together. Cordelia never noticed how much they touch in this way. She never thought anything of it, and yet now it feels like a promise, rather than just comfort.

 

Misty pulls her closer, so she stands over the Cajun, and she looks up at her through expressive blue eyes. “I can’t get any deeper, I don’t think. Would it really hurt any less? Would it have hurt less a week ago? We’re past the point of no return…and you know that just as I do…” Her voice is low and quiet and comforting, and her fingers play over Cordelia’s subconsciously. _She is a wonder. She is a gift. She is all the life of the world and she is all I have ever needed, and all I think I shall ever need._

Cordelia nods her understanding, and Misty wraps her arms round her waist and presses her face against Cordelia’s stomach. Cordelia’s hands slip through her hair and cling to her like she’s the last rock before the precipice.

 

But when Misty stands and pushes Cordelia’s hair out of her face so she can kiss her again, it feels even more desperate. It’s the type of tender that ignites an ache in Cordelia that she is entirely unfamiliar with. She cannot perceive further than her senses, and each is heightened, and each is filled to the brim with Misty, and she trembles at the force of it; the force of this closeness. Misty tastes new, like a new branch of life, something Cordelia has never experienced. She tastes like another human being.

 

 _This is lust_. She thinks to herself. _This is what the songs sing of and the church warns of. Misty is a woman. Misty is a person. This feels like an overdue promise._

And they’re both on the bed without Cordelia fully comprehending it, and Misty holds her face like it’s sacred, and is unrelenting in her kisses as Cordelia sighs softly in the embrace. She didn’t know she had such passion in her, she didn’t know that the ache would turn so quickly into boiling, that she can taste the past on her lips and the future on her tongue and for someone who doesn’t enjoy being touched, she finds herself somewhat addicted.

 

Misty raises herself above Cordelia and pulls away from her lips, hovering close and breathing heavily. Cordelia’s worries and warnings die before they reach her mouth, and she can do nothing but keep her eyes closed and bathe in the moment.

 

“You’re right. I should never have come here.” Misty whispers, her nose brushing Cordelia’s as she stays as close as she can. Cordelia screws her eyes shut tighter and arches up into the other slightly. “I love you.” Misty continues, in a single, honest breath.

 

Cordelia exhales shakily and wonders what she could have done to possibly deserve this, to deserve _her_ , when she’s never been anything but useless.

 

So she kisses her again, and she isn’t afraid, for once in her life. Her hands travel from Misty’s curls to her waist, resting on the small of her back to drag her closer. The Cajun traces Cordelia’s skin with gentle wonder, that turns quickly to something a little more desperate. Cordelia wants to taste the life of her, to feel close to someone, close to _her_. The emotion bemuses and drugs her and she knows she wants _something_ and she’s becoming more certain that “ _something”_ is Misty in her entirety.

 

Misty’s forehead drops to Cordelia’s collarbone and their breathing comes in a matching laboured pace as they lie with legs tangled and eyes wide. “Cordelia…I should go…we shouldn’t…” She counteracts the statement somewhat as she presses heated kisses to the skin of Cordelia’s throat.

 

Cordelia shakes her head. Misty kisses along her jaw and looks her in the eyes. “Don’t leave me pure for Hank Foxx to stain.”

 

And it’s easy.

 

It’s as natural as slipping into the familiar depths of the lake. Misty’s sunlight warms the crevices of her character, soothing age-old scars and healing broken dreams. Cordelia thinks perhaps Misty is a witch; a witch of the swamp, of the air and the mud. She induces wonder, following the vines and veins of Cordelia’s skin, coaxing her to life. Cordelia herself has never felt more connected with the garden; she feels like the rose, blooming strong and resilient once tethered to a compassionate support. She’s swallowed by the Earth, her vision clouding and she can’t breathe, like she’s lost in the forest, and then there’s an almighty blast of complete clarity, and the sun breaks through the clouds and its blue eyes fill with tears and its wild hair welcomes her fingers and the night is as beautiful and imperfect and coincidental and fated as the whole world, condensed into a single room, a single space.

 

When she wakes in Misty’s embrace, the ties of her nightdress loose, her body thrumming and her heart suddenly lighter and heavier simultaneously, she knows something has changed forever. She has given something she will never be able to take back. And as she shifts onto her other side to face her companion, Misty sleeping like an angel with bruised lips like a succubus, she knows that part of her, that _something_ , is safe, and honestly she doesn’t want to keep it herself now anyway.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the amazing support. These two are so much fun to write and I hope the ending is satisfying. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think. I may write more Foxxay later when I have more time, and support always helps.

It’s surprisingly easy to slip into a routine that makes life bearable while also convincing everyone else that nothing has changed.

 

Cordelia’s lessons are almost at an end, since she’s now officially well-educated and her wedding approaches with the next moon. Myrtle finds her in higher spirits than expected, considering her obvious resentment of the arrangement, but she sits through classes without complaint, a peaceful and slightly distracted look on her face. She’s always eager to leave, but works dutifully, and so how could Myrtle complain? She is the only member of the household that begins to grow a little suspicious.

 

Spring blossoms and so does the garden. Misty’s never been busier, and she’s never seemed happier. The twisting of Cordelia’s stomach tightens as her wedding day approaches, but somehow it’s difficult to worry when she’s with Misty. She must have been right. Her feelings for Misty must have been much more than platonic, as their relationship barely changes. They laugh and talk as they used to, they help each other and teach each other and spend all their free time escaping Fiona’s shouts and Myrtle’s scepticism together.

 

Cordelia pushes Misty up against a willow tree by the lake and kisses her for what feels like hours, losing herself in this newfound sense of purpose. Misty knots their fingers together under the table at dinner while Fiona complains about Cordelia eating too much, or too little, or not taking care of her skin in the prescribed way, or not suiting the colour of her dress. Cordelia straightens her spine and takes the onslaught, gripping Misty’s hand all the way.

 

Misty spends more and more nights in Cordelia’s room, leaving before dawn breaks so the maids do not discover Cordelia breaking her mother’s “no bed-sharing” rule. There is a conflict in her heart, a storm and a silence, and she’s lulled into peace and happiness in her secret affair with her female companion, and tormented and terrified as more and more plans are made for her wedding.

 

She lies, curled against Misty, looking up at the blue sky as the Cajun hums to herself and twirls a lock of Cordelia’s hair around her finger, her eyes falling shut.

 

“We’re going to have to do something, Misty, or it shall be too late.”

 

Misty sighs and turns in towards the other woman. “I’ve told ya what I want to do. I want to run away with you, but ya won’t hear any of it.” Cordelia looks a little paler at the mere prospect. “Don’t ya worry, Delia, the opportunity will come. Either ya don’t get married, or ya find a way of convincin’ your Ma that ya need me there with you. Then we can live together, be together when Hank’s out doin’ something, and we can help improve those poor people’s livin’ conditions behind his back.”

 

Cordelia smiles, lying close, admiring every eyelash around seafoam irises. “You’re so optimistic. You don’t see the darkness and misery the world has to offer.”

 

Misty glances dreamily up at the clouds. “I do. I see it. I’ve lived it for a bit. But ya just have to look past it. I don’t give it the power to destroy me. Because as terrible as the world is, it’s ten times as beautiful.”

 

Cordelia shakes her head fondly. “I think we’re very different.”

 

“You’re just realisin’ that now?” Misty asks, and Cordelia laughs lightly, a smile breaking out across her face.

 

“We work, darlin’. That’s all that matters. In this dark, dark world that you fear and I ignore, we found each other, and I think that’s what’s important.”

 

-0-0-0-

 

Myrtle Snow has always been one for gossip.

 

She lives her life in perpetual anticipation of the next scandal, the next thing to tear through the ranks of society and rupture it’s fickle, delicate fabric. Her life has been rocky in its own way, but as a spinster governess and long-term friend of Fiona Goode, she has learnt that her place is in the background, and she rather enjoys it there; relishing in the fall of others while she remains the same; constant, steady, and a little boring.

 

She sees the way Cordelia’s eyes fill with tears she will never shed in front of her mother as Fiona talks extensively about wedding plans. It is within a month, and the girl is so overwhelmed and _so_ _unenthusiastic_ that Myrtle is somewhat put out. Hank Foxx is handsome, rich and charming, everything her precious little bird deserves, so why isn’t Cordelia flying with excitement at the prospect of her marriage, as girls should?

 

She says one things too much, lets her true emotions show through, voices her utter loathing of the arrangement, and Fiona strikes her down with venomous words and a final blow to her cheek that sends her daughter storming from the room. But she’s angry, as opposed to upset. The girl is slowly developing a backbone, and she crumbles less and less under her mother’s harshness these days. It has not come soon enough, however.

 

Misty Day, the wonderful child, stands in the shadows, like a forest sprite, but the anger in her eyes is real and strong and crackling as Cordelia’s never quite is. She follows her friend, and Myrtle can tell she is restraining herself from tearing Fiona Goode limb from limb. Her protective nature, her utter devotion to Delia, is palpable, and it touches Myrtle. Bringing Misty to the house has improved things massively, she thinks.

 

“Tell that girl to get a goddamn grip. Nothing’s going to change, and she should count herself lucky that I haven’t just thrown her out, for all the use she’s been to me.”

 

“You treat her too harshly, Fiona. She’s delicate. She’s just a scared little girl, _your_ little girl.”

 

“Hardly. We’re nothing alike. Besides, she’s getting more insolent. It’s that damn Cajun, I’ll wager. I told you not to let her get too close. Her mind’s too small to have such thoughts crammed in it.”

 

Fiona lights herself a cigarette, her silhouette standing out a strong black against the dying fire. She waves her hand dismissively.

 

“Go to bed, Myrtle. Make sure those two are as well, it won’t do to have her sleep deprived _as well_ as rude.”

 

Myrtle nods and backs respectfully out of the room. Fiona’s treatment of her daughter is appalling, and she greatly underestimates Cordelia’s ability and complexity, but Myrtle knows her place and she knows how to keep it. Fiona is Cordelia’s mother, by blood and law. Who is she to interfere?

 

She climbs the staircase and turns towards her chamber, when she heard Cordelia’s voice, elevated in a way she has never experienced before.

 

“She _knows_! She knows I hate Hank and her and everything about this marriage and she’s doing this _deliberately_ to torment me. I can’t stand it. Maybe I shall be better off away from this poisonous house.” Cordelia sounds passionate, honest, raw, like a different person. Myrtle approaches her bedroom, the door slightly ajar. Misty sits inelegantly in a chair as Cordelia paces in front of her. The girl has a reckless, wild charm that Myrtle knew would make her attractive once they cleaned her up.

 

“Cordelia, I told ya, she ain’t no good. Maybe ya will be better just takin’ her jibes until you’re married and you can leave.”

 

“Misty, how many times, I am _not_ leaving without you. I’m not going _anywhere_ without you.”

 

“I know that, but your Ma don’t.”

 

Cordelia sighs in exasperation. She fists her hands in her skirt and continues to pace.

 

“I can’t marry him. I _won’t_.”

 

“Ya don’t have a choice, Delia.”

 

“I know! I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, like mother always wanted, and if I don’t move soon I’m going to be crushed.”

 

Misty stands abruptly and moves towards Cordelia, halting her movement. Misty takes her hands in a single natural movement and Cordelia visibly calms.

 

“I ain’t gonna let nothing crush ya. We’re gonna figure this out, but ya gotta make sure she don’t have reason to punish you. I can’t stand seein’ it.”

 

Cordelia sighs deeply and shakes her head sadly. “I think we need a plan, Misty.”

 

“I think we need some sleep, Cordelia. There ain’t no good in workin’ yourself up like this, even if I do enjoy watchin’ it…”

 

Cordelia blushes like Myrtle’s never seen before and Misty smirks at her bashfulness. It seems with a few words, the Cajun has righted the wrongs. What’s all this talk of a plan, anyway?

 

“You’re right, as usual, wise beyond your education. And I _didn’t_ mean it like that, and you know I didn’t, before you say anything.”

 

Misty smiles playfully and reaches up to push the ringlets out of Cordelia’s face. And as they just look at each other warmly, Myrtle thinks she has done the right thing in bringing about such a close friendship, until Cordelia kisses her.

 

And it’s strange, because it isn’t a kiss between friends, and Myrtle is initially more confused than horrified. Her natural instinct for politeness rears its head and she feels ashamed for intruding on such a private moment, before she comes to her senses. Her little Cordelia, the girl she practically raised, the little bird scared to stretch its wings, is suddenly a woman before her eyes, and the tension has leaked out of her body and she looks _happy_ , more so than ever. But none of that matters because this is wrong, it isn’t allowed, it isn’t _proper_ or appropriate. The kiss is not huge and passionate and vulgar, it’s little more than gentle pressing of lips, as would occur between husband and wife, and the way they hold each other is tender, supportive… _romantic_ …

 

And it leads Myrtle to believe this _definitely_ is not the first time has happened.

 

And suddenly it all makes sense; the distracted attitudes in lessons, the closeness, the way Cordelia’s eyes light up whenever her mother allows Misty to be present at a social occasion, the way she always looks to her companion before challenging her mother on the topic of the marriage, the way Misty is always so quick to support or defend Cordelia, as she was only a few minutes previously.

 

They act this way not because they love each other, but because they are _in love_ with each other.

 

And it’s blatantly obvious and she feels like a fool.

 

She didn’t foresee this. Cordelia has been kept away from young men her age to avoid any complications of the heart when it came to arranging her marriage, but perhaps all that did was send her running into a _woman’s_ embrace. They spend a lot of time together, but Myrtle never once for a second thought it would breed anything other than a healthy, close friendship that would keep Cordelia happy for a while. She’s made her happier than expected, and it’s going to hurt a lot more.

 

Misty kisses Cordelia’s nose and forehead, her arms round her waist and her lips mirroring Cordelia’s small, tranquil smile. Myrtle’s confusion turns to mild disgust. They make a beautiful couple, all blonde hair and pale skin and delicate, enchanting femininity, but the sight is so unusual, so beyond anything she would have conceived likely to happen, that her instinctual reaction is negative towards a display of a level of affection that _should not exist between two women_ , regardless of the situation.

 

_Poor Delia. This will be the final nail in her coffin. Soon Fiona will inform her that Misty isn’t to go with her when she marries Hank. It will break her. It will break her. It will finally break that golden soul, buried deep in her somewhere._

Myrtle furrows her brows and shakes her head. She has several more pages of her book to draft before the following afternoon. She should not be concerning herself in private matters that do not involve her.

 

As she readies herself for the night, a chill sweeps through brittle bones, shaking her to the core.

 

_She should be fixed. She should be normal. She should be as God intended. She should be happy…_

Myrtle Snow blows out the candle on her bedside table and attempts to sleep amidst the confusion of loud thoughts arguing in her head.

 

-0-0-0-

 

Cordelia thinks there are advantages and downsides to sharing a bed with another person on occasion.

 

Having Misty close, having her _there_ , suddenly makes her feel a little less alone, a little less helpless, a little more wanted.

 

Beyond that, she likes the smell of her clothes and the warmth of her skin and the softness of her hair. She likes waking up before her and watching her brow furrow slightly in sleep as the sun creeps into the room.

 

There are disadvantages, of course.

 

Cordelia dreams. Regularly. She curls herself into a ball and clutches the sheets to her. She sees things; clear as if she were conscious or so completely mixed up it’s impossible to decipher.

 

She sees horrors. She sees stories.

 

One night, she has been disobedient, and her mother hits her, and Cordelia doesn’t cry, the blow too familiar by now. This angers Fiona. She strikes her again. Her hands become knives. She slices Cordelia’s arm off above the elbow. Cordelia still cannot shed a tear. Fiona loses her rage. Her face becomes a terrifying mask of cruel indifference as she strikes again and again. Her final blow cleaves Cordelia right open, slicing open her torso and spreading the skin. She struggles to hold in her organs as her mother’s eyes become literal balls of shining steel, stuck in her head. She still cannot cry.

 

She wakes crying.

 

She wakes terrified and ashamed and sobbing and _hurting_ , clutching her chest to make sure she’s still in one piece.

 

She’s embarrassed because she wakes Misty, and she tries to calm her gasps and quieten her sobs, but she knows she won’t bring anyone else to her room; nightmares are all too frequent and no one has ever come to her aid before.

 

Misty goes from immediately irked to entirely compassionate before she’s fully woken up. She brushes Cordelia’s hair away from her face and holds her chin, speaking calmly, quietly, slowly to her, guiding her through the panic. Cordelia locks on to familiar eyes, and for once she doesn’t drown in them, more like clings to them like a life raft. Her desperate sobs turn to hopeless tears, and she’s shaken and ashamed and all Misty can do is hold her, guiding her back to the peace shed always find in her embrace. She cries gently into her curls, hating herself, wanting to get as far away from Misty as possible in case the blood from her chest wound stains her pure goodness. She wishes she could cut herself open to alleviate this weight in her chest, to take out everything then try to put it back together in a way that works better.

 

Misty doesn’t let go. Cordelia trembles and sobs and prays, but doesn’t try to pull free. She falls back asleep a while later, wrapped in an embrace she never thought she’d have.

 

There are more positives to the arrangement that negatives.

 

-0-0-0-

 

She rests her head on Misty’s breast and listens to her breathing.

 

She feels the tremor in her hands when she laughs as they walk.

 

She hears the hitch of her voice when they speak of the future.

 

She shivers, exposed, ashamed, as Misty traces the scars on her ribcage and back, mementos of her mother’s fury, and fights back tears when she kisses them.

 

She counts the days, she watches the moon, she stares at the stars, she basks in the sun.

 

She lives, and lives for life.

 

She lives knowing that her future is definite, but what it consists of is not.

 

She exists with a choice looming and an answer bubbling.

 

She waits in this wonderful limbo, the threshold of misery, for the day when she will walk down the aisle simply to escape her mother at the start of it.

 

And she sits by Misty and soaks her up as the wind murmurs through the maze.

 

-0-0-0-

 

There’s a melancholia to Cordelia’s last lesson.

 

She sighs as she enters the classroom, the desk she was seated in at age five and remained in until now, scribbling everything her tutor said like it was gospel, stands forlornly, without the usual books piled upon it.

 

Myrtle stands gazing out of the window, mournfully, contemplatively, and Cordelia doesn’t really know what to say. Lessons have always been a duty, but the end marks the end of her youth, and she isn’t sure she wants to say goodbye just yet.

 

“What are we learning today, Miss Snow?” It is much more common for her to address the red-haired woman as ‘Auntie Myrtle’, but she thinks reiterating the formal title she used initially is more poignant.

 

“The last lesson I shall ever teach you, and I believe the most important.” There’s an edge to her voice that Cordelia wasn’t expecting, like the shake you give yourself before walking out into the storm.

 

“And…what’s that…?”

 

Myrtle sighs. “Delphine!” She shouts shrilly, and the stout maid shuffles in. Her round face is set in its usual resting expression of disdain.

 

“Yes, Ms Snow?”

 

“Fetch Miss Day, please.” She commands Delphine, but stares straight at Cordelia as she says it, who goes a little white, instantly tense. Delphine nods silently and shuffles out.

 

“Why do you need Misty?”

 

Myrtle moves round to the opposite side of the desk to Cordelia, both women still standing.

 

“Because this is a lesson she too will benefit from.”

 

Misty isn’t far away, of course, watering potted plants in the drawing room, waiting for Cordelia to finish, and she arrives at the doorway, apprehensive, in a matter of moments.

 

“Misty, dear, please come it. There is something I must say to both of you.”

 

Misty looks concerned, her brow furrows, as Cordelia’s expression remains forcibly neutral.

 

Myrtle sighs. Her voice has lost a lot of the dreamy levity is usually possesses. Cordelia’s stomach starts twisting and she only just stops herself from taking Misty’s hand for support.

 

“Delia, all my life I have tried to guide you. I have been at war with myself, weighing up what Fiona wants me to teach you against what I think you should be taught. It has been a life’s work; time-consuming and thoroughly rewarding, but I fear I have failed.”

 

Cordelia frowns and shakes her head minutely. Misty stands close enough that Cordelia can feel the tension in her muscles radiating off her.

 

“…’failed’? What do you mean? How have you failed? I owe all my good qualities to you, Auntie Myrtle.”

 

“I have failed you because I let this happen. Because I was too blind and by the time I noticed it was too late. I am so sorry I have let this awful thing happen to you, to both of you, and I can only beg for your forgiveness. The heart is not to be meddled with and such matters are _so dangerous_ , more so than you can possible know…”

 

“Wait, ‘the _heart_ ’? Are you speaking of me and Hank?”

 

“No, my dear. I am speaking of you and Misty.”

 

Silence falls and Misty opens and closes her mouth slightly several times while Cordelia’s mind whirs.

 

“Me and…meand _Misty_?”

 

Myrtle’s eyes fill with tears and she presses her hands to her mouth, fighting back sobs as she nods.

 

“What…what about Misty and me?”

 

“Oh my dear you cannot think me so blind, I shall not be insulted with such levels of stupidity.” She sobs. Cordelia is caught somewhere between horror and pity. She tugs at the material of her skirt in a characteristic nervous gesture.

 

“Myrtle I don’t understand…”

 

“My baby bird!” She all but wails. “My little Delia is so grown up and I have been so oblivious to your maturity, my dear. You’ve been so lonely, I know that, and I thought I might be able to help. And Misty… _Misty_ …”

 

Myrtle, evidently overwhelmed with emotion, addresses the now bewildered Cajun.

 

“I knew…I _knew_ you would help. You’re such a radiant little thing and you always have been. So high up in the clouds, so filled with life and wonder! You needed the help as much as Delia did and I was right; a perfect match, your loneliness and gentleness complimenting each other wonderfully, not to mention the aesthetic of such a beautiful partnership, but, oh, perhaps it was all a little too perfect…” She takes a handkerchief from her sleeve and blows her nose noisily. Cordelia risks a glance at Misty, who stares back.

 

“And I have orchestrated this tragic happiness, not that anyone can control it! And to think…my student and my ward…”

 

“What about us, Myrtle?!” Cordelia asks, now impatient.

 

“Oh, _dear_ Delia, you think I haven’t noticed? It took me too long perhaps, but all the signs were there! You act with the subtlety of youth: that is, not subtle at all! And what you clearly tried to pass as friendship, what took me too long to name, is _love_. And it makes me bleed and swell. In this house of hate, love has blossomed, in so unlikely a place…”

 

Cordelia and Misty share a brief glance of panic. Misty starts to speak but doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. Cordelia’s eyes are wide as she stares at Myrtle.

 

“Misty and I? I mean…yes…of course I – I love her…how could I not? She is my best friend, but I fail to s-see how that is an issue, Myrtle?” He voice wavers as her panic swells, but she forces a tone of confusion.

 

Myrtle’s brow furrows in utter pity as she glances between the two young women. “I suppose it is only natural…well, not _natural_ , but inevitable. You’re so close and you have no one else. Especially at your age, all those emotions and urges and all that confusion, and you’ve been deprived of male company, even a male role model. I should have seen it coming, _I should have_ …” She shakes her head hopelessly and crumples her handkerchief in gloved hands. Misty shifts subconsciously closer to Cordelia, then consciously away again.

 

“Myrtle, I think you’re m-mistaken –“

 

“Oh _please_ , Delia! Don’t belittle me. I know of your affair. I witnessed it. You have nothing left to hide. I know lust when I see it. I know romance when I see it. I know _love_ when I see it…”

 

Cordelia’s stomach plummets as she freezes rigid where she stands. She sees the look of utter disgust on her mother’s face as she throws her out, sees the Foxxes hurting Misty as she stands by helpless. And she only had a few weeks with her…

 

“Myrtle, I…I’m sorry I thought…you see –“

 

“I ain’t sorry.” Misty interjects. Myrtle and Cordelia turn to stare at her.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I said I ain’t sorry. And it’s true. Why should I apologise when we ain’t done nothin’ wrong? Look, I know it’s unexpected and everything, but me and Cordelia have already come to terms with all that. And I don’t think we’ve done anythin’ worth apologisin’ for.” Misty stands with her back straight, meeting Myrtle’s stare.

 

“Misty, you must understand child that this is not the way the world works. I am disappointed in both of you.”

 

Cordelia looks down, a little ashamed. “H-how did you find out?”

 

“I saw the two of you together. It made the order of things pretty clear. I was shocked, and I have thought of little else since.”

 

Cordelia’s imbedded submissive instinct causes her to almost shrink inside her own skin, but Misty is there to balance her out with that signature boldness.

 

“Our relationship ain’t nobody’s business but our own. My only thought is for Delia’s safety and happiness, as I know yours is.”

 

“It is, which is why I must speak my mind on the matter.”

 

“Please don’t tell mother, Auntie Myrtle, if you haven’t already. _Please?_ I know she’s your employer, and she demands to know every detail of my existence if she can use it against me, but _please_. This is the first time in my life I’ve been so happy. _You_ brought that about. You saw what I needed and gave it to me, on many different levels. _Please_ don’t tell Fiona, because she’ll hurt Misty, she’ll… _separate_ us. I cannot go back to that loneliness. I cannot be parted from her, Myrtle, you _must_ understand…”

 

“Cordelia, not another word. I’ve made up my mind and my decision is final. This will cause a scandal, bad enough that you are unmarried, betrothed to another and _involved_ with someone of a lower social class, but worst of all, a _woman_. You need to be set right. This needs to be sorted before it goes any further or affects anyone else.”

 

Cordelia moves closer to Misty, and the other brushes her fingers over Cordelia’s hand to comfort her. _I hate myself but I don’t regret it…_

“So here is my lesson, girls. The box on the window contains a brooch made for me in my youth, crafted exquisitely out of pure sapphire, diamond and yellow gold. It is old and in perfect condition and entirely one-of-a-kind from when I was muse to a charming Austrian artist who insisted I required jewellery like no one else possessed. It is worth a lot. You must catch a train up country, out of the state if possible, somewhere colder and more forgiving, somewhere where your liberal attitudes are the norm. You must leave and never look back.”

 

The girls gape, exchanging a synchronised glance of disbelief. Cordelia laughs quietly, nervously, narrowing her eyes at her tutor.

 

“Myrtle…I, um…I beg your pardon?...I don’t think I fully understand…”

 

“You must leave. Both of you. Together. At the earliest opportunity. Fiona has no intention of allowing Misty to go with you to the Foxxes’ estate, in fact I believe she wants to keep her here to continue tending to the grounds, likely in decidedly worse living conditions than she has now since you won’t be here to insist against it. She will make it very difficult for you to see each other, especially since she thinks Misty is manipulating you into being impertinent and rejecting your betrothed.”

 

“We can’t. We already considered it, and we won’t get five miles before Fiona comes after us. Besides, we’re two women cut off from society. We’d never survive.” Misty says hopelessly. The bangles on her wrist jangle as she brushes her fingertips over Cordelia’s.

 

“You must try!” Announces Myrtle, impassioned. “You cannot let this wither and die! You cannot let Fiona crush this flicker of hope! _I will not allow it!_ How ignorant are you both if you are going to let love go when it presents itself so purely? Just sit still and let this gift be taken from you?! I think it is perhaps unnatural, and I would rather for both of you if it had been a man whom you loved, but who am I to question God’s will? You must seize this; it’s so romantic! It is as Shakespeare and Tennyson wrote! You must not lose it, _must not waste it_!”

 

-0-0-0-

 

“We cannot. It is absurd. Mother would hound us down before the hour was up. Then there’s no telling what she would do. Besides, even if we did manage to outrun her, I have no idea how to survive in the world out there. I’ve actually never _left_ this house, these grounds, _ever_ , in my life…”

 

“Yeah, but I have. I know the world. I know the bayou real well, we could hide out there for a while, then get far away once we’re calmer.”

 

“I don’t know, Misty, it sounds too risky. I am still of some worth to mother, but she values you little. The power she holds is shocking, she could have you arrested, flogged, maybe even executed if she can convince the town that you kidnapped me, which she will try, and succeed, at doing. I’d rather be miserable than see you die.”

 

“So what? We just wait for her to sell you off?”

 

“We should make plans. My wedding isn’t for a few weeks, if we can convince Myrtle to help us find a safe house we might have a chance. Or maybe she could convince mother that I need you around, for my health and my sanity, and she’ll part with you and you can live with me.”

 

“All sounds a little far fetched, if ya ask me.”

 

“We’re in a mess, Misty, we don’t have the luxury of coherence or reason.”

 

“I don’t wanna argue with ya. I don’t like seein’ your eyebrows creasin’ like that.”

 

“I’m sorry, this is clearly getting us nowhere. Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

 

-0-0-0-

It’s not that Fiona Goode doesn’t love her daughter.

 

She does…she _thinks_ she does…she must, otherwise she wouldn’t be so cruel. She sees Cordelia’s potential, and sees it squandered, and that makes her angry. Fiona Goode has spent her whole life getting exactly what she wants at the moment of request. Beauty, brains, wealth, status and determination are a lethal combination, and she sees her daughter, who she had so hoped would be a carbon copy of herself, and sees that she is her opposite, and that enrages her. Cordelia is soft where she is hard, warm where she is cold, submissive where she is oppressive, kind where she is harsh, forgiving where she is vengeful.

 

To this day she is bemused by Cordelia’s appearance, well aware of whom her father was and yet still confused at how her daughter’s beauty could be _so different_ to her own. Fiona is beautiful like a lioness, the awe-inspiring, terrifying kind of attractive that threatens slaughter if you pull her tail. Cordelia is beautiful like summer evenings and water lilies and the enigmatic, dainty princess in those stupid stories where Fiona always sympathised with the dragons trying to scorch and stamp her out.

 

She looks at her daughter, and her arrogance demands the only offspring she could _truly_ adore unconditionally; a mirror image of herself.

 

And she sees a quiet, timidly intelligent little girl, trembling at her hand and hiding behind books and music and trees and flowers. Cordelia is demure and polite, she is pretty and selfless, she is quiet and compassionate; she is the ideal child.

 

So _why_ does Fiona feel disappointment probe her insides whenever she gazes at her?

 

She _knows_ why. She remembers how she fought and kicked and screamed as she was practically forced down the aisle. She remembers innumerable cigarettes stashed in her bed sheets and all those young men climbing through her window or obscured by willow tree branches. She has no memory of herself sitting still; even for a moment, always moving and fighting back. And her daughter is not rebellious, she is not feisty or disobedient. Somehow, through some strange twist of fate, Cordelia Goode has managed to develop and grow as a calm, caring individual under the abuse of a mother who hated that her daughter grew less and less like her by the day. And that makes Fiona even angrier.

 

Cordelia is like the single daisy that pushes up through the ground and flourishes alone above a buried corpse; growing quietly, steadily, despite the poison in the soil.

 

She doesn’t know about daisies, but _she’s_ certainly not immune to her surroundings.

 

If Cordelia thinks she is being subtle, she doesn’t fully comprehend that Fiona is perfectly able to read her own daughter after twenty-two years.

 

And she knows arranged marriage sits uncomfortably with a lot of people, her included, but she knows Cordelia would go through with it, even if she didn’t really want to, unless something changed in her heart.

 

And it has. And it’s obvious. And it’s Misty.

 

What Cordelia has in intellect she lacks in subtlety, and Fiona becomes slowly aware that there’s something _not quite right_ hanging in the air, like the promise of war, like the smell of gunpowder when the sound of the shot has long since faded.

 

This will not stand; not under her roof. She will have this marriage. They need it. Nothing is going to stop her on her steady descent to the top, which is becoming increasingly quicker and more desperate, more a scramble than a stroll, as the years pile on and she feels her life slipping away.

 

Something must be done.

 

-0-0-0-

 

The door bangs open at the precise moment that another clap of thunder echoes round the tall room, and Cordelia starts where she sits. She’s been waiting for Misty. It is almost ten o’clock; around this time they usually sit alone and read before bed. Her head snaps towards the door at the sound. There stands her mother.

 

As usual, the hair on the back of Cordelia’s neck stands on end. Her mother ignites an atmosphere of ruthless unpredictability, but there’s something different here. There is a placid smile stretched across a mouth that is unused to such an expression, and yet she seems to radiate an air of wrath.

 

“May I help you, mother?” Cordelia asks in her most innocent and doting tone, hiding the resentment behind the question.

 

“Yes, Cordelia, you may.” Her back is a stiff as a rod, not just straight. “I require a word with you in my drawing room. Come at once.”

 

Cordelia opens her mouth to express her hesitance, but Fiona interrupts.

 

“If you are waiting for the Cajun, don’t bother. She will not come here looking for you.”

 

The ominous statement starts Cordelia’s stomach turning, and the entrenched instinct to obey, that has been fed and groomed so routinely throughout her life, forces her out of her seat and pushes her to follow her mother down the corridor to her drawing room.

 

Lightning flashes through the large mullioned windows.

 

_One, two, three, four –_

Thunder sounds. It isn’t far away. It was six second previously. It is getting closer.

 

The door creaks in the way it always has as Fiona hold it open and all but shoves her daughter into the room, lit only but a slowly dying fire in the huge fireplace. Myrtle stands by it, facing the wall, one hand upon the mantle, the other balled into a fist at her side.

 

Cordelia frowns, then catches sight of Misty in an armchair. She breathes a quiet sigh of relief that she is alright, but then notices the way she curls in on herself, like she’s willing the chair to swallow her. She trembles slightly, despite the thick heat of the room’s air, the firelight glistens in tear tracks down pale cheeks, and there’s a harsh red mark forming along her jaw. The worry in Cordelia is replaced quickly by anger, and the instinct to obey is entirely overrun by the instinct to protect.

 

She hurries over to Misty, kneeling before her. Terror floods the Cajun’s eyes at the action, and she shakes her head tightly.

 

“Misty are you alright?” Cordelia asks, and there’s horror in her voice, but she keeps it calm, low and composed as not to aggravate her mother further.

 

“She’s fine, Delia. Now leave her and come here, or she won’t be.”

 

Misty takes Cordelia’s hand off her knee and squeezes it a little before retreating back into the cushions, as if they will somehow shield her.

 

“Mother, what on earth is going on?!” Cordelia demands.

 

“The inevitable, I’m afraid.” She says, swaggering further into the room and lighting a cigarette. Myrtle still hasn’t looked over at them.

 

“The time has come for you and Miss Day to part ways. I am moving her to lodgings nearby. She will remain my gardener but shall not live under my roof.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

The glare Fiona gives her could cut diamond. “Do not address me in that tone, Cordelia, I am warning you. You are to be married in two weeks, and therefore we might as well break off this ridiculous dependency now. Say goodbye to Miss Day, she will be gone by morning.”

 

“…I’m sorry, _what_ do you intend to do with her?!”

 

“She will reside on the Benson’s land.”

 

“You mean with their _slaves_?! Misty isn’t a slave! You can’t do this, it’s –“

 

“—Entirely within my right. She has nowhere else to go. She needs this occupation to survive, and until she can pay for her own accommodation she will stay in a lodging of my choosing.”

 

“Y-you can’t! I won’t let you, Misty’s –“

 

“Misty was a bad idea. This whole arrangement was a bad idea. You’re attachment is too deep, and you know it. I always knew you were too feeble to stand up for yourself, but of all the people to _latch_ onto hopelessly, you picked _her_ , and that is not acceptable. I shall remove her before your wedding so you have time to get used to the idea of being alone. This friendship is unhealthy. She is filling your brain with all sorts of nonsense and turning you against your husband to be.”

 

“He _assaulted_ me without my consent! He’s a monster! Misty protected me, protected my honour!”

 

“I don’t give a damn about what he does to you, you’re his now.” Fiona flicks her cigarette carelessly at Cordelia as she turns to pour herself a drink. Misty cries silently in her chair, her fire dimming with the one in the fireplace.

 

“Misty won’t stand for this. She won’t work for you. She won’t let you _abuse_ us like this!”

 

“Misty is not as stupid as she looks. She knows that if she disagrees or argues with me on any point, things will be a whole lot worse for you. _She_ can walk away from me, but you can’t. She really is a selfless little thing –“

 

“Mother you _can’t_. Misty is all that is keeping me sane, keeping me grounded –“

 

“She is a distraction, and must be removed. I’ve spoken to Lord Foxx and he agrees that such a close friendship with someone like her is detrimental to your reputation and your future marriage, so if she is _ever_ found of Foxx grounds, she will be treated as a trespasser and treated to the standards that Lord Foxx enforces.”

 

She couldn’t spell it out any clearer for Cordelia. There is no way out.

 

Cordelia furiously fights back tears. She will _not_ cry in front of her mother now, she’s grown beyond that.

 

“You will be married a week on Tuesday and you will never see Miss Day again. Myrtle can attest that this has got out of hand.”

 

Myrtle looks up at this, and the pain in Cordelia’s eyes, the eyes she raised from wide and innocent to mature and broken, causes her to avoid her gaze, unable to look at her. Misty fists her hands in her skirts.

 

“Say goodbye now. It is over, Delia. Things will be set right once more. Don’t you want to give her a proper farewell?”

 

The malice in Fiona’s eyes finally makes things clear to Cordelia. She is loathed. She is despised, despite being the woman’s own _daughter_. Maybe she loves her deep down, maybe she would never kill her, but this is close in pain. Fiona Goode cannot love. She has no heart, no soul, and Cordelia is a means to an end, and that is all. Whatever affection she has ever felt for her takes a backseat to her own ambition. She will never take pity, she will never show remorse, she will never exercise restraint. Cordelia will have to straighten her spine and step into the fire if anything is ever going to change.

 

However, she holds her mother’s gaze for a few long moments, then moves over to where Misty sits. She kneels before her, tilting her chin up with gentle fingertips and looks into the stormy eyes that she adores with every ounce of her being. Her mother cannot love her, cannot know love at all, because if she did, she would know how this feels, this _agony_ , and she would show mercy.

 

They converse without speaking. Cordelia glances at the mark on Misty’s face in a question. _Did she do this to you?_ Misty nods. Her eyes respond. _It stopped her from doing it to you, so it does not hurt._

She takes Misty’s hands. She feels the weight of her mother and her governess’ gaze on them.

 

“Remember what we said about changing things?” She asks quietly.

 

Misty nods solemnly.

 

“Well I think we should start now.” Misty’s eyes turn from an ocean to steel.

 

Cordelia stands slowly and turns to face her mother, a barrier between her and Misty, as Misty was to her and Hank.

 

“Misty isn’t going anywhere without me, mother.”

 

Fiona takes a moment to process, mild surprise nowhere but her eyes at her daughter’s tone, but it quickly turns to contempt.

 

“I think you’ll find you’re wrong about that, Delia.” She turns away and gestures with her cigarette. “Now Miss Day, get up and go with Delphine to pack. You leave first thing.”

 

“Don’t leave, Misty.” Cordelia says firmly. That makes her mother look up from her drink.

 

“She isn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not while I’m here. And then when I leave she’s coming with me. You shall not separate us, I won’t allow it.”

 

The amusement drains from Fiona’s face and she turns to face Cordelia face on, her expression cold and calculating, like a scavenger wondering which part of the animal would be easiest to tear off when it’s still alive. She puts out her cigarette.

 

“Listen here, Cordelia. If Misty refuses to leave, I will physically force her out. If you kick up a fuss, I will have her beaten. If you refuse to marry Hank Foxx, I will never let you back in this house alive. Now stop this foolishness and get upstairs now. We will have a serious… _discussion_ about this tomorrow when I have the energy.”

 

Cordelia lets a tiny smile creak up the corners of her lips and holds her head high. “That’s quite enough, Fiona. I won’t listen to anymore of this. You’ve damaged me enough and I’m through with it. I won’t let you hurt Misty. I won’t let you endanger her.”

 

Fiona conceals rage well, but her jaw still twitches slightly. She goes to speak. Cordelia gets there first.

 

“By all means, threaten me with every colourful punishment under the sun that means you can break me and crush me without damaging my appearance. Lock me up, lock me out, lock me away, I don’t care. For Christ’s sake, _kill me_ if you must, but this is where I draw the line. This is it. Misty is not going to suffer for this. For me. And I will not give you the satisfaction of making me believe that this is anyway my fault. I may not be worth a lot, but I’m worth more than this. And I’m worth more than you.”

 

Myrtle has turned her head to stare. Fiona does not look gormlessly taken aback as Hank did in the garden. She looks like she already knew everything that her daughter has just said, and has been hoping all these years that she would never figure it out. It is a little ashamed, but it is mostly just rage.

 

“Cordelia, this is absolutely ridiculous.” She hisses. “I will _not_ tolerate threats in my house! Especially not from you! What have you achieved, huh? _Ever_? _Nothing!_ You’ve been nothing but a burden the second you came into this world and I should be given some kind of honorary award for putting up with you for so damn long!”

 

“It comes as no surprise that you hate me, mother. Some little part of me, the ordinary little girl who loved her mother unconditionally, who took the beatings and the drunken screaming fits because she thought it was her fault, has been seeing clearly for a while now. She’s been _screaming_ Fiona, and I’m fed up of telling her to sit down and be quiet. Misty isn’t leaving. And if she is then I’m leaving with her.”

 

“That damn Cajun is the reason you’re unhappy, you stupid child! She’s been filling your head with all sorts of nonsense! She doesn’t care about you at all, she just wants to keep living here, protected, comfortable, when she hasn’t done a goddamn thing to earn it. She’s like the rest of them; lazy, stupid scavengers!”

 

“That ‘damn Cajun’ is the reason I haven’t thrown myself from the roof.” Cordelia all but screams. She laughs bitterly, looking up at the ceiling. She feels Misty shift closer behind her.

 

“And _I_ gave that to you. I gave you a friend. Someone to keep you company and get you used to people so you’d be ready for Hank Foxx. God knows you might then be stupid enough to fall in love with him if I got you used to people. It was _me_ who gave you the ‘glorious gift’ that is Miss Day. Don’t you forget that, you ungrateful girl!”

 

“I’m afraid you’re so caught up in your own ‘brilliance’ that you don’t realise how stupid you can be, mother.” That turns Fiona’s eyes to fire. “You thought Misty would ease me into marriage with Hank? Ha! I suppose I should thank you for letting her stay here, letting us get so close, teaching me how to relate to people. Unfortunately for you, it didn’t go exactly to plan.”

 

Behind her back, she feels Misty’s fingers knot with her own. Myrtle looks between the pair and Fiona with alarm.

 

“What in Hell’s name are you wittering about?” Fiona spits.

 

And Cordelia has the audacity to roll her eyes and laugh lightly. Misty’s grip on her hand strengthens. Myrtle’s eyes widen further.

 

“I’m done here, Fiona. There’s too much history in these walls, too many tears. You won’t push me to do anything else. I won’t be marrying Hank. I don’t love him and I never will.”

 

“You think I give a damn about your _feelings_?!” Fiona marches forward and prods Cordelia hard in the chest with a sharp fingernail. “You are over-sensitive. Always have been. You’re _exhausting_ in your constant need for attention and affirmation. If you hadn’t come out of me, I’d wonder if you were even mine.”

 

“Oh, what I wouldn’t _give_ to be someone else’s.” Cordelia says bitterly. “You are an egotistical, delusional tyrant, Fiona, and despite your status and your wealth and your power, _no one can stand you_ , including me. I won’t put up with your abuse any more. I will grow the backbone you’ve been begging me to all these years.”

 

“You’d throw it all away…” Fiona’s tone is low, dangerous, barely audible, like she is trying not to spook her prey. “… _everything_ I’ve given you…all the opportunities that so _so_ many girls your age have been denied…for _friendship_?!”

 

“I never had a choice, and we both know it. The opportunities you speak of were exactly what you picked out for me from birth, nothing more. It matters not that the Foxxes are the worst sort of people in the country. It matters not that you are a vicious, bitter old woman who can barely see past her own ambition. It matters not that I am _hopelessly_ in love with the girl that you call my ‘friend’ and allowed into your house and into my heart with _every bone in my body_. I shall ‘throw it all away’ because I don’t want it. It is damaging and unhealthy, and that is reason enough. It matters that I have _finally_ realized that I am not the wreckage that you made me believe I am.”

 

Myrtle’s eyes are closed against the storm, but there is a gentle, proud smile on her lips. Misty’s lips are parted. She stares up at Cordelia in awe. Cordelia trembles slightly, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving and the venom in her eyes would have paralysed a gorgon, if only her mother was so human.

 

Fiona’s quiet fury bubbles and grows, glancing incredulously between the two young women.

 

“I have no desire to delve into the _perversions_ that have evidently being festering in my house when I gave you both my trust, but I will say that at least you shall be a little prepared for your wedding night. You are little more than a child and quite clearly cannot perceive what love is. It’s stability; something you will never get from a bayou rat like her. Something that pleasant society forbids you from getting in that manner from another woman _at all_. Thank you for bringing this sickening predicament to my attention however, as I believe that a good beating usually forces such unnatural urges out. Jesus Christ, Delia, by your age I’d made my way in the world of carnality, but this is so low even I cannot be proud of it. Congratulations, you have fulfilled your aim. You have thoroughly _disgusted_ me. Now this is your last chance. Stop this ridiculous, nauseating display of childishness, or I will resort to force.”

 

Cordelia smiles casually at this and turns away from her mother, tugging on Misty’s hand and urging her to her feet, which she does distractedly, clumsily and with a hint of fear in her protective stance.

 

“We’re leaving, Misty. I am not going anywhere without you, and neither of us can possibly stay here another day.”

 

Misty’s apprehensive expression breaks into her recognisable smile of suppressed ecstasy.

 

“For _heaven’s sake_ , you’re not going anywhere.” Fiona says flippantly and marches over, grabbing Cordelia’s arm and forcing her to face her with a grip like a boa constrictor.

 

“ _Yes we are!_ ” Cordelia tears her arm away and squares up to her mother. “I can’t stay here a moment longer. Goodbye mother. I _do_ hope we never meet again.”

 

She goes to leave, and, as expected, Fiona delivers a strong blow to the side of her face. Cordelia recoils from the force, but straightens up again. On reflex, Misty shoves the matriarch back, away from Cordelia. Fiona stumbles, nostrils flaring, looking like a vengeful demon backlit by lightning. She rounds on Misty. Cordelia sees a flash of silver as she unsheathes the knife she hides in her skirts at all times. She knows this as her daughter, and she reacts quick enough to stop it in mid air.

 

There’s a flash of pain, but she doesn’t acknowledge it as the blade stops short of Misty. The tension is heavy, the air thick and heady and thunder crashes outside and Myrtle’s either gasping or sobbing in the corner, the sound muffled by her handkerchief, too terrified of both sides to say anything.

 

Cordelia feels ten feet tall. The words she speaks turn to liquid hope in her veins, and she feels drunk on the realisation of her own self-worth. She stands on a great precipice that is both hers alone and every other scared little girl’s in existence. She shudders at her own greatness, the power in the heart of one person. She realises she need not leech it off others, or simply reflect the glory of Misty, because she basks in her light but can also create her own. She is scared and uncertain and awkward and wants to curl up away from physical contact and run hand in hand with the woman she loves through country she has never seen before. She is terrible. She is brilliant. She is unpredictable. She is unstable. She is unstoppable.

 

She is _bleeding_ …

 

She vaguely remembers in this confidence-induced haze the sound of something small and light falling and hitting the floor, and by the looks of things, and the blood slowly coating her hand, it was part of her finger.

 

Fiona looks a little horrified with herself. Misty is gripping her arm forcefully and staring. Cordelia observes her hand with detached interest.

 

The top of the smallest finger on her right hand is missing.

 

It was a clean cut. The pain is delayed, and shock is keeping it at bay for now. Blood flows forth and has begun to soak the light material of her sleeve.

 

“Delia…” Misty breathes in horror. Fiona tries to speak several times, but cannot find words.

 

In this silence and with blood roaring in her ears, Cordelia seizes her opportunity.

 

“Like I said, mother…” her voice is a little cracked, but she forces back tears of horror. There will be time for that later. “…Misty and I are leaving now. You’ve left your mark, physical this time, and I don’t think Hank Foxx will want me _now_.” She says with relish.

 

The knife clatters to the floor as Fiona’s brow furrows at the confusing onslaught of emotions.

 

Misty is trying to speak, her hand slippery with Cordelia’s blood as she tries to examine the damage, but Cordelia shakes her off, taking her hand with her uninjured one and leading her towards the door before her mother can recover.

 

She stops on the way. Myrtle is sobbing now, choking out a few words, most of which seem to be “blood” and “doctor” and “dear”.

 

“Auntie Myrtle, I love you as a surrogate mother, and always will. Try to have a half decent life. Escape her if you can. I doubt that though, you have never really been much but passive.”

 

Myrtle searches Cordelia’s face desperately for answers to questions she doesn’t know how to phrase.

 

Fiona appears to be regaining some of her wit, so Cordelia takes her opportunity.

 

“You’ll burn in hell, you witch. You’ll die alone and despised by anyone who is close to you. We could’ve been happy, we could’ve been a family and I could’ve been a different person, but remember, as you’re swallowed by regrets in this big, empty, dilapidated house, that this is entirely your fault. Give my regard to the Foxxes.”

 

And with a last withering glance, she tugs Misty out of the door, and slams it behind her as lightning lights up the dark, emptying room, her blood gleaming on the doorknob.

 

-0-0-0-

 

“So where exactly are we going?”

 

Cordelia shifts herself back into consciousness, her head heavy, her thoughts sluggish. She needs rest, but it is not the time for resting now.

 

“Hmm? Oh, we are going to the docks. I should be another hour and a bit at most. Don’t worry, we shan’t miss our stop.”

 

“It’s not that I’m questionin’ ya or nothin’. I just…feel a bit on edge not knowin’ what’s ahead, ya know?”

 

Cordelia’s head lolls back against the wooden boards of the side of the train carriage. They’re travelling in the freight carriages to avoid being seen or recognised. Cordelia wants to make this journey as slick and inconspicuous as possible, so she’d paid the conductor a full ticket fee, but insisted on making the journey in the bowels of the storage being transported at the back of the train. She smiles tiredly, peacefully, her eyes sliding closed.

 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you. We’re going to the docks. We’re getting a ship as soon as possible. At dawn if there is one.”

 

Misty sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, her feet bare. She regards Cordelia with mild worry.

 

“Delia, are you alright? You’re lookin’ awful dozy. How’s your hand? Ya ain’t lost too much blood, have ya?”

 

She moves closer and takes Cordelia’s hand easily. The elder lets her.

 

The finger is freshly bandaged, but the red is already beginning to seep through.

 

“Misty, I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, it’s a few hours until sunrise and I’ve barely slept all week. The pain’s gone down considerably. I’d tell you if I thought there was a problem.”

 

“If you’d just taken the time to look at it properly…it needs _stitches_ , I just know it. I don’t want to have finally escaped only to have ya die because of an injury _she_ gave ya.”

 

Cordelia laughs warmly and opens her eyes to gaze at the Cajun.

 

“It’s not as bad as all the blood made it look, Misty. I’m _fine_ and there’s bound to be a doctor of some sort at the docks, sailors are always injuring themselves. I’ll get it stitched there if it needs it.”

 

“Ya lost the top of ya finger, that’s gotta be at least a little dangerous…”

 

“Yes I did and it shall never grow back and no doubt it shall make writing very difficult. But you know what? It shall heal. And I shall learn to write just as well. Just give it time.”

 

Misty still holds her injured hand, and Cordelia grazes her skin with her thumb.

 

“Alright. I trust ya. Just don’t try an’ be brave if it takes a turn for the worse. I’ll never forgive ya if you do.”

 

Cordelia smiles again. “I promise I shan’t.”

 

There’s a minute of silence, before Misty moves to lean against Cordelia, who wraps an arm round her, relishing in being able to hold her close and feel a faint breeze stirring her hair as the train rushes further and further away from her house and her mother.

 

“So, where are we goin’ on a ship?”

 

Cordelia feels Misty’s voice vibrating through her chest and it makes her heart glow and swell.

 

“I think England, don’t you agree?”

 

Misty takes a moment to process, then tilts her head to look at Cordelia incredulously.

 

“ _England?!_ ”

 

“Yes. The culture isn’t all that different, there is no language barrier, and it’s half a world away from anyone we know. Their ideas are more liberal too; there’s no slavery, or rather a lot less of it, and I believe we shall be able to live together without inviting too many questions.”

 

Misty relaxes against her once more. “… _England…_ I never thought I’d leave the South, let alone the _country_ , and now ya wanna go to _England_ …”

 

“If you don’t want to, we needn’t, I just thought…”

 

“No. No, I do want to.” Misty nods to herself as she warms to the idea. “England. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Just me and you, in another country, makin’ our way without anythin’ following us…”

 

Cordelia tightens her hold on Misty, before moving away a little so she can kiss her quickly and sweetly on the lips.

 

“I thought maybe we could set up a school. When we left I just took whatever money I could find in Fiona’s study, and it’s actually rather a lot, enough for a deposit anyway. We may have to work pretty hard to get going, but I think we can make an honest living for ourselves without having to marry or anything. I’d like to get involved with social issues too. I don’t think enough is being done about slavery, and having to almost marry Lord Foxx’s son has knocked some sense into me. We must try to be of some use. We must _try_ to make a difference and help those poor people. We’ll start small, but I won’t let it go as long as I live.”

 

“We’ll change the world, like I said we would. We’re gonna change things, Cordelia Goode, as far as two unmarried, nameless foreign women can, but we’re gonna.”

 

Misty grins, casting her eyes upwards as if she were thanking God, but Cordelia knows her better than that.

 

“I’d go anywhere with you. I’d live anyway I had to with you. But I can’t think of anythin’ better than what you’re suggesting.” She says quietly, reverently, like the illusion might shatter at any moment.

 

“If I’d never met you, I’d still be there. I’d be married to Hank Foxx this time next week. I’d be trapped in that perfect hell. You’re my saviour. And now, you’re all I have. And if anyone tries to brandish a knife at you again, I have nine and a half more fingers to lose.”

 

Misty shakes her head as she turns to look at Cordelia, smiling that blissful smile that’s exactly the same as the first time she saw her, and yet different; made genuine by experience and made smaller by familiarity. Cordelia could fall for every one of her smiles.

 

“I ain’t going nowhere. I’m gonna stay right here, with you, makin’ sure ya don’t get into trouble.” She murmurs softly, inches away from her face, and Cordelia feels the thrill of no longer having to hide.

 

She thinks about all the things she’s ever felt in her life; inadequacy, boredom, hatred, fear, resentment, irritation, restriction, self-loathing. She’s felt everything in such massive amounts that it’s practically torn her apart. This is different. This is huge without being crushing; it fills rather than drowns. And she loves Misty as a person might love another. She loves her in an all-consuming and yet thoughtless way that feels entirely natural and entirely new and exciting. She feels an emotion as it was meant to be felt; wholly.

 

She will tell Misty this, she decides, whether in a few second’s time or a few years. She feels the track swooping by beneath her as her lungs expand as she takes in more and more air and freedom. She holds Misty close and promises her an uncertain future of forever. She feels the strings of her, tethered to New Orleans, slacken and snap. She feels burdenless. She feels oddly, exhilaratingly, entirely at peace.


End file.
